


The Greatest Thing You'll Ever Learn

by ShippersList



Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Human, Angst with a Happy Ending, Canon-Typical Violence, Clint Barton & Natasha Romanov Friendship, Clint Barton Needs a Hug, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Families of Choice, Gen, Getting Back Together, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Phil Coulson & Nick Fury Friendship, Phil Needs a Hug, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Spies & Secret Agents
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-05
Updated: 2018-06-16
Packaged: 2019-03-27 12:02:55
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 14
Words: 40,211
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13880466
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ShippersList/pseuds/ShippersList
Summary: Years ago, Clint walked out of Phil's life and broke his heart. It took him years to get himself back together and trust someone again, and he eventually found happiness with Rosalind and their daughter. After she died in a car crash, Phil moved into a small town to raise his daughter in peace.Dorrian seemed like a perfect place to settle down and rebuild their lives.And then it all fell apart when Clint came back. Except that this wasn’t the Clint Phil remembered.Or,A story of love that was never lost, friends who were always there, and family that will always be more than just the people around you.





	1. One

**Author's Note:**

  * For [lola381pce](https://archiveofourown.org/users/lola381pce/gifts).



> This is for Lola. We haven’t met (yet) but I consider her a dear friend who has been there for me when I didn't even realize I was in a sore need of a friend. Thank you for being you.
> 
> The title is, of course, from [_that_ song.](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=m_YtyyfUF8g)

Phil sighed and rubbed a hand across his face, leaning back against the wall to relieve the ache in his lower back. He was dead tired but he still had three more boxes to unpack. They all belonged to the kitchen and one of them had the toaster, so he had no choice. He didn’t want to spend the following morning listening to Chloe complaining about _’Yet another morning without her whole wheat toast with honey, it’s a disaster daa-ad, you just don’t get it!’_ , so he decided it was better to just bite the bullet and get their things sorted out.

It had been an interesting endeavor, moving from the bustling New York suburb to the small town nestled in the mountains of the northern part of Nevada. Contrary to Chloe’s former classmates who had decided Phil was an awful dad, it actually hadn’t been his idea, far from it. It had been Chloe who had finally admitted aloud that living in their old home surrounded by memories and grief was like living in a tomb, and she was sick of it. Chloe had been the one going on a full-on research binge. Chloe had been the one who had contacted the realtors to put their old house on a market. And after receiving a call from the mayor of Dorrian, Phil suspected Chloe had also been the one to send out his resume after some advice from her Uncle Nick.

And Chloe had been the one to say he should accept the offer. Even though they had agreed that something had to be done but if Phil was honest, taking a leap like this hadn’t been what he’d had in mind.

Chloe had always been a brave one. She’d inherited that from her mother.

Phil sighed again and pushed himself up, groaning a bit when his knees popped and his back protested. He was getting way too old to climb ladders and move big furniture but he could admit that there was something extremely satisfying about it. A sense of accomplishment, of getting things done.

The house around him was silent, waiting. It was a nice house, small but comfy with three bedrooms, a spacious living room, a somewhat cramped but functional kitchen, and a massive backyard that was partially grown over with vines, rose bushes, and an old cherry tree that looked like a gnarled old woman. It was a house that had seen life, love, and loss and from the moment they’d crossed the threshold, it had felt like home. It had been scrubbed clean before they’d arrived, aired out, and decorated with vases after vases of fresh flowers. Phil had a suspicion it was mostly the doings of his new assistant slash lab tech slash nurse, Miss Jemma Simmons who was both absolutely brilliant at her work and exasperatedly endearing on her off hours.

Jemma had been waiting for them when they’d arrived, smiling a bit nervously and wringing her hands. She’d jumped up and hurried to hover by the front of the car on Phil’s side, barely containing herself while Phil had killed the engine. She had welcomed them with open arms and unbridled enthusiasm, walked them through the house, and made Phil promise to call her if there was anything they needed, anything at all. It had taken some time to convince her that yes, they were more than capable of unpacking their belongings before she left but now, Phil was seriously considering calling her.

The kitchen was having a hard time fitting their dining table but even though it was slightly too big (a fact Phil had known even before they’d arrived), it was one of the few furniture they’d decided to bring along. The table had seen and been through too much to leave it behind. Besides, it contained several Chloe’s earliest artworks meticulously scraped on the underside. There was no way Phil would’ve agreed on leaving it behind.

Said table was currently laden with not only the last three boxes he was yet to unpack, but also paperwork and heaps of packing materials like bubble wrap and packing peanuts. The truckload of their stuff from New York had arrived in the afternoon and Phil wasn’t overly fond of the following clean-up. He was half-heartedly formulating a plan to make Chloe do it when she startled him from his thought.

”Dad? Have you seen my day one box?” Chloe asked from the kitchen doorway.

”Isn’t it in the bathroom?” Phil asked back. ”Or that’s where I saw it the last time I checked.”

She frowned. ”Why would it be in the bathroom?”

”Probably because it said ’ _new school, day one’_ on the side,” Phil pointed out. ”You’re a teenage girl, you’re bound to spend your morning in the bathroom anyway.”

”Really funny, dad.” Chloe stuck her tongue at him and sprinted up the stairs.

Phil grinned as he listened to her steps.

Despite the move being Chloe’s idea, Phil had thought she’d be more subdued after leaving behind her childhood home and her high school friends but Chloe seemed to take it all in stride. She was curious and enthusiastic and even though Phil did catch her having her quiet and sad moments, she seemed to be okay. Perhaps she’d needed this, to get a fresh start at a new place without the baggage of the past. Without the pitying looks and whispered gossip behind her back.

He took a deep breath and turned back to the box at hand. It was filled with assorted glassware, ranging from sturdy drinking glasses to crystal whiskey tumblers and delicate wine glasses. They had been Rosalind’s choice, a set of Riedel glasses. Phil didn’t really see the difference to the inexpensive glasses from Target but he’d been happy to accommodate her. She’d loved to remind him of their heated discussion every time they’d shared a glass of wine after a long week at work.

Now, the glasses made something painful squeeze in his chest.

Rosalind would’ve loved Dorrian.

He shook his head and gave the glasses a sad smile. Like mother like daughter.

There was a shallow cabinet with glass doors on the side wall, optimal for beautiful dishes and glassware. He unpacked the Riedels one by one, checked them for stains and fingerprints like Rosalind had always demanded him to do, and carefully set them on the shelf. So far, they were the only ones in the cabinet and the glasses looked lonely, slightly out of place.

A bit like him.

 

* * *

 

The next morning, as he pulled over to the curb, Phil took a casual look around. Despite the slightly Harry Potterish name, Gringewald High School seemed like a nice place—or as nice as a high school could be. It was a smallish, old-fashioned school with an open plan yard and bright yellow brick buildings. The parking lot had equal numbers of scooters, cars, and bicycles lined up and students milled about, waiting for the bell.

He kept the car on idle as he waited for Chloe to exit. She’d rolled her eyes at him when he’d said he would give her a ride to school but Phil knew she was actually pleased. No matter how comfortable she had been about the move, transferring to a new school was a big deal, especially for a teenager. She hid her nervousness well but her fingers drummed an uneven rhythm on her knee and she blinked just a bit too rapidly for it to be just dry eyes.

Phil stifled a fond smile. ”Hey,” he said and clasped her shoulder. ”You have your phone. Call me if you need anything, okay? I don’t care if it’s ice cream or an emergency extraction.”

”Yeah, yeah,” she said and rolled her eyes but her shoulders relaxed just a tiny bit. She opened the car door and stepped out, calling a cheery ”Bye dad!” over her shoulder before she started towards the main entrance.

A group of teenagers had been hanging out by the curb and turned to look at Chloe. Something clenched in Phil’s heart as he watched her straighten her pose and then march right to the group with a waved hello and an easy smile. They responded in kind and with a relieved sigh, Phil watched them head inside after the bell rang.

He took his time driving to work, enjoying the small town feeling, even though his current car was nothing like he’d had before. Back in NY, he’d driven a fire-engine red Corvette he had renovated himself, part by part, used countless of hours to polish her up to top condition. But there was no way he could take a sports car like that to the mountain range. With a bleeding heart, Phil had sold his beloved Lola to an old friend and parted from her with the promise of coming back someday to take her on a ride.

She had been a long-time dream come true and when he’d finally bought her just shy of twelve years ago, he’d vowed never to part with her. 

Phil snorted to himself. And now he was driving a sensible black SUV with the personality of a blank cardboard.

If he was honest, he had no idea how he’d managed to snag the position of the town doctor. Months ago, right after he’d finally admitted that he and Chloe needed to move on, he’d once mentioned their situation to Nick as a passing notice and forgotten about it later. A couple of weeks later, Phil had gotten a call from Melinda May, Dorrian’s mayor, who informed him to move in and take over the old doctor’s practice.

Phil suspected both Chloe and Nick had their fingers on it but he’d decided to let it slide. Nevertheless, he’d made a mental note to ask Nick later how the hell had Nick, an old army vet and CIA agent with some shady dealings with several organisations he didn’t want to discuss with Phil, managed to uproot Phil’s whole life and replace him and his daughter almost seamlessly in a new one.

Not that Phil complained, really. Dorrian had the good, welcoming small-town vibe going on and it looked like it belonged on some small network television series. The roads were lined with brightly colored houses that had wide front yards with hammocks and rose beds, parasols and kiddy pools, dog houses and lazy cats licking their front paws on the porch. It was bustling with life with weekly Farmer’s market, church bakes, community theatre and opera, and neighborhood book clubs. The townsfolk gave them curious glances but they greeted them with the perfect combination of warm smiles and gossip.

He wasn’t sure how he’d feel in the long run but for now, being in Dorrian felt _right_.

When he parked his car in his assigned slot just by the front door, it was the only car in the parking lot. That itself wasn’t uncommon because both Jemma and Fitz, his other assistant slash lab tech, preferred to walk or cycle to work. But the sign saying, ”Closed! Sorry!” _was_ unusual because both Jemma and Fitz were usually in by 7:25 am, cheery and bursting with energy. They had run the practice under (and if the rumors were true, also filling in for) Dr. Lee for years. Despite their slightly chaotic style, they worked seamlessly together and were probably the reason why Phil had had such an easy start in the first place.

It took him a couple of tries to get the door open. Jemma used to say the lock had personality and just needed a gentle hand, but Phil decided to jump the opportunity to oil both the lock and the hinges now that Jemma wasn’t judging him. He was all for charming old buildings as long as they actually worked. Satisfied that the lock didn’t snag anymore and the hinges worked flawlessly, he picked up his jacket and briefcase and walked into his office.

The room was in impeccable condition and ready for his patients with only one exception: in the middle of his table stood a thermos and a small box waiting for him. Curious, Phil walked closer and saw a _”Went check in on Ms. Ellis, have a lovely morning, boss!”_ note written in Jemma’s precise handwriting. He raised a brow and carefully pried the lid off the box.

Inside, was a generous slice of carrot cake.

It wasn’t the first time Jemma had left coffee and some kind of a pastry waiting for him when he got to work. At first, it had felt off but Phil had soon realized it was just Jemma’s absolutely golden and gentle nature.

He huffed a fond laugh and sat down, poured himself a mug of perfect, strong coffee, and leaned back to enjoy the cake in silence.

It was a good way to start the day.

 

* * *

 

As time moved on, life slowly started to settle.

A few weeks in, Phil and Chloe had taken into the habit of taking long walks around the neighborhood, learning their way around the small roads, chatting with people, and just enjoying the gorgeous scenery. They learned to visit the Farmer’s market early on Saturday mornings to catch up with May Parker and buy a loaf or two (or five) of her deliciously nutty and savory nut and date bread. They learned to chat with the neighborhood ladies about the latest book club assignment. They learned that, like in so many other small communities, the church was less about the worship and more about caring. They learned that the ability to get up on the stage of the local pub and just go with the flow was more important than the actual ability to sing or act.

In many ways, it was a dream come true.

And yet, planting roots into a new community was an emotional roller coaster for them both. Even though Chloe adapted to her new school quickly and had several new friends by the end of the first week, Phil saw the sadness that lingered around her. She tried to hide it but she didn’t quite succeed and he hurt for her. He wanted to shield her from the pain and confusion that resulted from the way she still mourned her mother and got new friends at the same time. He wanted to tell her that it was alright to be happy and laugh and that it was what her mother would’ve wanted.

But it was a process. He understood.

And Phil himself? Well, as the new town doctor, Phil gathered interest from all fronts, varying from curious looks while getting groceries to blatantly intrusive questions from Dr. Elliot Randolph—not an MD—that he learned to dodge from early on. As a whole, Phil didn’t really mind: he knew he was a new face and coming from a big city, he was bound to be gently picked at. He also knew that when given enough time, the townspeople would eventually learn to trust him or at least let him do his job. That was all he wanted. That, and giving Chloe a stable, safe home to grow up in.

It didn’t take long for the small group of people he interacted with almost on a daily level to feel like family. Jemma and Fitz seemed to have adopted him as some kind of awkwardly floundering father figure they felt responsible to steer around while Bobbi and Lance running a pub called The Mockingjay across the street soon felt like annoying friends from college. Major Melinda May and her husband Jasper turned from an acquaintance and a boss to friends and the parents of Chloe’s new best friend, Daisy.

And they weren’t the only ones. Local B&B owners Steve and Peggy ( _”Only my mother calls me Margaret and only when she’s upset with me.”_ ), the town vet Dr. Banner, the high school principal Maria Hill, deputy Lehnsherr, and professor Xavier all seemed to pop up rather frequently and Phil figured it wouldn’t take long to get to know them, too.

About three months in, Phil and Chloe got an open invitation to the weekly potluck brunch. Nobody knew who had originally initiated the tradition but the habit was that unless there was some emergency, their small band of friends would gather up at one of their homes every Sunday around 11 am, bringing heaps of food and drink, board games, and movies. It was a refreshing way to spend the afternoon and an especially convenient way to keep up with whatever was going on in Dorrian.

And this week, it was Phil and Chloe’s turn to host for the first time.

Chloe had mostly rolled her eyes when Phil had asked how she’d like to contribute to the cause but she’d baked a batch of Rocky Roads. It was partially to her mother’s memory, partially because she knew Phil loved them. Also, there was a good chance that Chloe wanted to impress Daisy. Phil didn’t want to think what those two would accomplish together.

He wasn’t sure whether he should take the easy way out and just buy a cheese assortment or if he should actually make an effort and prepare a pot roast. After some internal debating, he decided to do both. Slightly an overkill but also a safe bet.

It also meant that he needed to do some serious shopping.

Dorrian had three grocery stores and after the first couple of weeks, Phil had learned just where to go to get what he wanted. This time, he needed to check all three to get everything he needed, including a very particular brand of strong Stilton and he left work early to avoid the Friday night rush hour. It was just his luck that the first two stores were out of the Gorgonzola and goat Gouda he wanted, so when he finally reached the last store and its cheese section, he let out a small breath of relief when he saw the familiar package. It wasn’t like he couldn’t live without Stilton but, well, he liked to indulge every now and then. Besides, Chloe loved that cheese with an almost unholy passion.

He nodded at Mrs. Melville and her lively twins and exchanged some pleasantries as he retrieved the two remaining Stilton packages and tossed them on his shopping cart.

He turned around to proceed to the olive oil section and froze.

No. It couldn’t be.

With wide eyes, Phil stared at the man slowly tracing his finger along the side of a mac and cheese package. He was bulkier and his face had gained an impressive set of deep lines but the profile of his nose was the same and his shoulders… Dear god, his shoulders were just as wide as Phil remembered.

When the man frowned and turned, Phil ducked his head and concentrated on a random ketchup bottle, his heart hammering in his ears as he tried to pry from the corner of his eye if he had been spotted. He suppressed a shiver when he thought he felt a familiarly intense gaze sweep over him, brush along his back and neck and then pass on.

It wasn’t until the man had turned away again that Phil let out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding.

Gingerly, like every movement hurt, the man took the single mac-and-cheese packet he’d been half-heartedly poking and started towards the cashier. His shoulders were slumped but he seemed tense and at the edge at the same time, a combination that usually didn’t bode well. Phil forgot about his groceries as he tried to follow the man as covertly as he could and waited—hoped—he’d turn around.

And he did.

Right after he’d paid for his meager shopping of instant mac-and-cheese and two bottles of blue Gatorade, the man turned to leave and the light from the fluorescent lamp from above illuminated his face.

Phil felt like he’d been punched in the gut.

 

* * *

 

He wasn’t sure how he managed to finish his shopping and make it back home. He drove in a daze, unloaded his shopping bags from the trunk of the SUV, and went inside. His body went through the motions but his mind was still in the store, shocked by the man from his past.

Shit.

How long had it been? Fifteen years? Twenty?

Gently, he lowered the package of sugar on the kitchen counter, gripped the edge of the counter and leaned forward, hanging his head forward as slight tremors run up and down his arms. The counter’s sharp underside cut into the pads of his fingers and he was grateful for the pain, grounding him.

He didn’t question what he’d seen. He remembered the curve of the neck all too well: it had been burned into his memory, to his very core by the long, lazy hours wasted away in bed or by the river. It was ingrained into his skin by the countless hours he’d spent tracing his fingers along the curve of the tendon and the way he’d trailed his mouth along it. Even now, decades later, all he had to do was to close his eyes and _remember_ , and he would be back there, with _him._

He’d never forgotten about them. About him.

The slam of the front door jolted Phil from his memories and he exhaled in a rushed grunt, blinking rapidly to clear his mind from the onslaught of memories. He heard Chloe drop her bag on the floor and kick her shoes off and then she stopped by the kitchen door.

”How was your day?” Phil asked, not quite looking at her.

When Chloe didn’t answer for a moment, Phil thought she’d gone upstairs. But then she walked to him to hug him from behind, leaned her cheek against his back, and squeezed him so hard it almost hurt.

Phil closed his eyes.

Of course, she’d noticed something wasn’t right. She was a bright kid. He sighed and turned around in her arms and hugged her back.

”I miss her too,” Chloe said after some while. Her voice was small, partially muffled by Phil’s shirt.

Phil didn’t correct her. There was no point.

They held each other for a good while and then Phil batted her on the shoulder and said, ”Okay, I guess we need to eat something. Is pasta okay?”

Chloe sniffled but offered him a small smile. ”Only if you have Stilton.”

”Of course,” Phil snorted. ”What do you take me for?”

She jabbed him to his side and then went into the living room to give him some space.

The dinner was nothing fancy, just some penne with ready-made cream sauce and a generous serving of Stilton on the side. They ate in a companionable silence while the TV showed local news in the background. After, Phil poured himself a glass of red wine and retreated to the couch with Gaiman’s American Gods. He’d read it at least six times already but never grew tired of it.

He was fully absorbed in Shadow and Mr. Wednesday’s banter when he heard a muffled cry and a thud from upstairs. He frowned, lowered his book and called, ”Chloe? Honey? Are you okay?”

She didn’t answer, so he set his book to the side and was about to get up when Chloe hurried down the stairs. She stopped by the doorway, an odd look on her face; her cheeks were bright red and her eyes were wide.

”What’s wrong?” Phil asked.

Without saying a word, Chloe raised her hand, holding a stack of letters.

Phil blinked, not sure of what he was seeing and then he froze.

Where had she found them?

Chloe swallowed, looked him straight in the eye, and asked, ”Dad, who is ’C’?”


	2. Two

Slowly, Phil stood up and swallowed, eyes glued to the bundle of paper in Chloe’s hand. After what seemed like a lifetime, he blinked and raised his gaze to meet his daughter’s eyes. ”Where did you find those?” he asked quietly.

”They were in a cardboard box that was stuffed in one of my moving boxes,” she said.

”Oh. Must’ve been a mistake,” Phil said.

Chloe nodded. ”Yeah. I guess so.”

His eyes dropped back to the letters. Chloe held them almost tenderly, like she knew how much they meant to him but he wanted to jump up and snatch them away from her anyway.

They stood there for a moment, awkward and silent, and then Chloe asked again, softer this time, ”Who is ’C’?”

Phil let out a long breath and shook his head. ”He…” He paused and swallowed. ”He was someone I loved a long time ago.”

”He?” Chloe asked.

Phil nodded. ”Yeah.”

He’d never been secretive about his bisexuality, not since—well, at least since he left the army. When Chloe had reached puberty and they’d they’d had a serious talk about consent issues, gender, and sexuality, he’d told her that he had dated both men and women. He’d explained what bisexuality meant and what it definitely didn’t mean and she’d been okay with it.

However, not hiding his sexuality was one thing and talking about it openly was a completely another matter. Having the letters out there in the open on the other hand… They had never been meant for anyone else but him. And they definitely weren’t something a child should read about their parent.

”Um,” Chloe said, jolting him from his thoughts. ”Do you want to… I don’t know, talk about it?” She was awkward and yet somehow endearingly sincere, even though she knew it would be painfully embarrassing for both of them.

Her determination reminded him of her mother so much it made something clench in Phil’s chest.

”Perhaps some other time,” he said. ”But thanks for the offer.”

”Yeah, sure,” Chloe said. Her shoulders drooped from relief.

Phil stood for a moment, waiting. Then he asked, ”Could I have them back now, please?” nodding at the letters still in her hand.

Chloe blinked and her eyes widened. ”Oh, yeah, sorry!” she exclaimed and hurried to give them to Phil, not quite meeting his eyes.

”You read them, didn’t you,” he said.

She blushed. ”Just a couple,” she said and gave him a smile that looked more like a wince. ”I mean… he isn’t—wasn’t very literate, was he? And his handwriting is terrible but the way he writes about you is beautiful.” She paused and shuddered. ”Not that I ever want to read stuff like that about you. Ever. Again.” She didn’t wait for his answer but practically fled the room and ran upstairs.

Phil waited until he heard her door slam shut before he slowly sunk to sit on the couch, staring at the letters in his hand.

Over the years, he’d lost count of how many times he’d read them. He’d read them again and again until he had fully memorized the way the lines sloped and the individual letters seemed to try and run away, the way the words were jumbled into the far right side of the paper and crammed into an almost illegible mess. He’d traced the lines under the harsh Afghanistan sun and the starlit sky until he had each letter etched into his mind, the words burning brightly like a beacon, leading him home.

Or at least, that’s what he’d believed.

Huffing out a breath, he leaned back and rubbed a hand over his face.

It had been so long ago. And now, seeing _him_ brought it all back.

Why now? Why, after all these years? After all the pain and heartache, after he’d moved on and built up a new life brick by brick, why did it have to happen _now_?

And how in the name of everything that’s holy had he managed to misplace the letters so that they ended up in Chloe’s things instead of his own?

How the fuck was it possible that he saw _him_ on the same day that Chloe found the letters?

Why was his head such a mess?

And why, oh why did it still hurt so much?

He let his head drop against the back of the couch and stared at the ceiling. His eyes traced the small dents in the wood, followed the patterns from left to right and back to left, swirling along the lines while he tried to get his thoughts under control.

First, Phil didn’t even know if _he_ was in Dorrian to stay. He might be just passing through, on his way to…wherever. Or perhaps he was visiting friends or family, or—highly unlikely but not impossible—on a vacation. There was no reason to expect him to stay.

Second, Phil was a grown man with a respectable job and a teenage daughter to look after. He wasn’t that cocky midwestern boy anymore, eager to conquer the world and so certain that he had his whole life planned out and spread in front of him like a banquet table, ready and waiting. Now, he had responsibilities that went beyond his own wishes, he was dependable. He was an adult.

And last but not least… Phil sighed. If he called himself an adult, he should man up and just say the name.

So. _Clint_ was in town.

A small shiver traveled down his spine.

 _Clint._

The name rolled down his tongue like a well-worn endearment even though it had been, good God, almost twenty years since they’d last seen each other.

Clint.

Once, that name had been his blessing and prayer, whispered into the warm skin under his mouth, traced into a calloused hand that trembled in his hold, and groaned into the night sky stretching above their heads. In Phil’s mind and lips, it had replaced the name of the God itself, turned from a five-letter word into something bigger, something _holier._

Clint.

It had been his sacrament, his holy communion, his _everything._

Until it had all fallen apart.

”Fuck,” he whispered under his breath and leaned forward, resting his head in his hands.

This was ridiculous. Why did he react this way, after all this time? He’d been married and lost his wife, it wasn’t like he hadn’t moved on. But seeing Clint had brought it all back again, the lazy days and frantic nights, the way Clint had moved both in the trapeze and under him, the way his face had been able to split into mischievous grins and heartbreakingly vulnerable smiles.

Seeing Clint had brought back the way he’d said Phil’s name and the way Phil had felt when he’d caught Clint looking at him.

The way he’d loved Clint.

But seeing Clint had also brought back the terrible longing he’d felt in their months spent apart and the pain of never being fully able to tell anyone about him. He’d been lonely in his love, offering just small smiles and enigmatic shrugs when the others had talked about their wives and girlfriends.

Clint had started to write him letters almost as soon as Phil had left. They were adorable and heartfelt and offered a small relief but they didn’t compare to Clint.

Nothing did.

And then there had been _that_ letter.

And then there had been _that_ look in Clint’s eyes.

And then Phil had felt his whole world shatter around him.

As a medical professional, he knew that a broken heart wasn’t a thing, no matter how hard it was to breathe, how much it physically hurt, and how much his chest constricted. But it sure as hell had felt real.

And now, Clint was back.

 

* * *

 

That evening, Phil felt brittle in a way he hadn’t been in a long time. He moved on autopilot, cleaning up the kitchen and making tea, physically there but mentally somewhere far, far away. A while later, Chloe returned downstairs and joined him for a cup of tea and they sat there in the silent kitchen, side by side, both lost in their thoughts. Chloe kept shooting him glances every now and then, and a couple of times she even opened her mouth to say something but decided against it.

She’d always been adept at reading him. Phil wondered what she saw now.

What did she think of him? Would she despise him for keeping the letters for all these years even through his marriage? Would she think he had been disrespectful?

Would she love him less because of a stack of faded words on stained pieces of paper?

The responsible and adult thing would be to talk with her, no matter how embarrassing it was. It was a thing—honesty—that had been the guiding light in Phil and Rosalind’s parenting since Chloe had learned to walk, and Phil was man enough not to shy away from uncomfortable topics. It didn’t mean he was looking forward to it, though.

Luckily, he was literally saved by the bell.

House calls were a part of his duties as the town doctor and as it was, he got a call. The local sawmill owner, Thor Odinson and his wife were expecting their first child and Jane had gone into early labor. With Phil’s blessing and in cooperation with their chosen midwife, they had already decided on a home birth. Despite her eccentric ways and absolutely no brain-to-mouth filter, Darcywas a dedicated and highly qualified and Phil trusted her to do her job. However, when Thor asked Phil to come over to check in on Jane and the baby just to be sure, he, of course, said yes.

The ride to the Odinson house took just under an hour and Phil was greeted by the door by five Huskies and a nervously smiling Thor. So far, the pregnancy had gone by the book and the baby seemed healthy and had enough weeks, so Phil gave them a green light. He agreed to stay, mostly because he was already there but also because of the event itself.

There was something magical about births, and no amount of medical training and first-hand experience managed to dim it. The way how the female body was able to create life from two individual cells, to build up a complete human being that developed from that cluster of cells into a fully formed baby, was a wonder. The resilience of women never ceased to amaze him.

The human body was capable of so much. If that wasn’t a miracle, he didn’t know what was.

Hours went slowly by as they patiently waited for nature take its course. They took turns in helping Jane move around and massaging her back, and a couple of times Darcy sent both Phil and Thor out in no uncertain terms to ”air the room out.”

In the end, the delivery took until late in the afternoon and when Jane finally held the pink, squirming baby that screamed their ears off, they all felt thoroughly drained.

”Hello, Freya,” Jane cooed, exhausted but radiating that peculiar beauty of a new mother. ”Welcome to the world.”

Thor was weeping openly, his eyes bright with both tears and joy, and he kissed Jane with so much tenderness that Phil had to avert his eyes. ”Mother would’ve been so proud of you,” Thor stage-whispered. ”So proud. And I’m proud. Thank you, my love.”

Darcy fussed around them for a moment and after checking that everything was alright, she pushed the bedroom door open to let the Huskies in and led Phil out under the pretence of cleaning up and making tea.

”Freya was Thor’s twin sister,” Darcy said in hushed tones when she loaded the washer and cleaned up by the basin. ”She died soon after birth, but Frigga never forgot about her. And neither did Thor; he has her footprint tattooed on his shoulder so that he’s carrying his baby sister on his shoulders wherever he goes.”

Frigga, Thor’s mother, had died suddenly a couple of months ago from a brain aneurysm. It had been a shock to the whole community because not only was Frigga well-liked, she had been one of the pillars of the community. On top of dealing with his own grief, Thor had been worried sick that Jane was going to lose the baby. Fortunately, that hadn’t happened, but the loss had shadowed the last months of the pregnancy and added a bittersweet tang to the delivery.

”Frigga doted on Jane. She’d been over the moon when she’d heard she was going to be a grandmother,” Darcy said sadly. ”But I’m pretty sure she’s watching over them, wherever she is. And she would’ve been so goddamn glad to hear they named the baby Freya.”

Phil glanced at the little family through the open doorway. He was, of course, familiar with Frigga Odinson’s passing but he hadn’t known the story behind the baby’s chosen name.

They made themselves scarce for a couple of hours to give the baby a bit of time to acclimatize and Jane a chance to catch a nap before Phil checked them both. He received a bone-crushing hug from Thor and a blissful and tired ’thank you’ from Jane before heading home. Despite being exhausted, he was also hyped up with the leftover adrenaline, so he decided to keep the car windows open and sing aloud the whole way home just to make sure he stayed awake.

When he got home, the house was silent and there was a note on the kitchen table from Chloe, saying she was out with friends. Phil didn’t exactly mind. He ate a light dinner and took a long, hot shower before crawling to bed.

The last thing he saw before he fell into exhausted sleep was a pair of piercing blue eyes.

 

* * *

 

For some reason, Phil felt unreasonably nervous on Sunday when the clock drew close to eleven. He caught himself straightening the throw pillow and moving the potted plants on the window sill which was just plain ridiculous. His new friends and colleagues weren’t coming over to judge his interior design decisions, they were coming over for a brunch.

But he also recognized where his nervousness brewed from. This was the first time he entertained anyone in his and Chloe’s new home. This was the first time he’d officially invited anyone (or, well, everyone had invited themselves) over after Rosalind’s death, and it was yet another new chapter in their new life. He wanted to make a good impression on the people they were supposed to live side by side for the foreseeable future.

Melinda, Jasper, and their daughter Daisy where the first to arrive at 11:02, bringing scones and several jars of homemade sour cherry preserve. Chloe had absolutely fallen in love with it the first time she’d tasted it and now, she squee’d when Jasper said they were for her. Jasper preened so hard that Melinda rolled her eyes.

”This place looks good,” Melinda said as a greeting. ”I like it. Never was much of a fan with the over-the-top Stark decor.”

’Stark’ being _the_ Tony Stark, a developer and entrepreneur (amongst other things) who had invested a sizeable amount of money on Dorrian, apparently because he liked the scenery. The Coulson house had been one of Mr. Stark’s many rental houses but he’d decided to sell it because, supposedly, it had been too small and shabby. From the pictures Phil had seen of Stark’s interior design choices, he was fervently happy. To each their own, but Phil preferred the rustic, casual look to sleek and modern, chrome-laden style.

”So, what did you make?” Jasper asked as he marched straight into the kitchen. ”Pot roast? Smells really good. Did you put rosemary and thyme in it? Honey? _Saffron?”_

Melinda rolled her eyes. ”Please forgive my husband. He forgets his basic manners when he smells food.”

”Ha! Just wait until she gets a couple of glasses of good vintage Viognier,” Jasper shot back. ”She’s a red wine snob.”

Melinda didn’t deign him with an answer, just gave Jasper a flat look that hid deep warmth and ushered him into the living room.

Phil dropped his gaze and plastered on a small smile. Usually, their banter made him chuckle but after seeing Clint, it was just a bit too much. Wordlessly, he took the basket from Melinda and unloaded the contents to the counter, acutely aware of her sharp eyes watching him. He knew he probably couldn’t avoid her for long, but she let him be for now, let him welcome the next guests. Not before long, their kitchen was filled with people in a good mood, sharing jokes and stories while they passed food around.

When he excused himself to brew more coffee, Melinda followed him.

”What’s wrong?” she asked bluntly. ”You seem off.”

Keeping his back to her, Phil rinsed the coffee pot and prepared another load, trying to stall for as long as he could. Trying to shrug her off wouldn’t work anyway: evading Melinda was like trying to hide a bone from a dog by pretending it wasn’t in your hand. Besides, he knew he could trust her.

He pressed the button to start the coffee and turned around.

”I…” he started, not sure of how to phrase his thoughts. A short moment later, he finally went with, ”I was reminded of my past recently.”

”And?” she prompted.

He crossed his arms over his chest, fully aware of how defensive the posture seemed. ”And nothing.”

Melinda gave him a dry look. ”Obviously it’s not nothing if it has you that shaken,” she pointed out, not unkindly. ”Is it a thing or a person?”

”A person,” Phil admitted.

She nodded. ”Are they going to cause trouble?”

Phil didn’t miss the way Melinda used a gender-neutral pronoun. He took a deep breath and said, ”He’s never been the type. At least, not to me.”

Melinda cocked her head and gave him a look. ”Is the reason you were reluctant to say anything because it’s a he? Really, Phil? You should know better by now.”

Phil shrugged. ”I’m not ashamed of what I am but I know small towns can be—”

”—Racist and homophobic,” Melinda concluded. ”I know. But not this town, though, not on my watch.” Her lips quirked up and she continued, ”Besides, haven’t you noticed how the whole Dorrian roots for Fitz and Mack?”

”What?”

”Mack, the huge mechanic we have? He’s had a massive crush on Fitz for ages but he’s too shy to do anything. And Fitz is convinced that someone like Mack would never look at someone like him twice.” She rolled her eyes and huffed. ”It’s perhaps the biggest and most painful case of mutual pining I’ve ever seen. We have a bet going on at the town hall on which one caves in first. If you want to join in, ask Jemma .”

”Really?” Phil asked, curious. ”I thought she and Fitz were an item.”

Melinda shook her head. ”They’re more like siblings. And Jemma has her eye on the skiing instructor, Trip. Too bad he’s in town only during the season.”

”Uh,” Phil said.

”It’s the fresh mountain air, Phil,” Melinda deadpanned. ”I swear, sometimes this place is practically a stranded love boat with extra hormones on top.”

Luckily, the coffee maker beeped and Phil turned around, relieved to have something to do with his hands. He cleared out the grounds and poured the coffee on a thermos to take back to the dining table, but stopped when Melinda gently grasped his arm.

”Seriously, Phil,” she said softly, ducking her head so that she saw his eyes. ”We like having you here. You’re a good fit for our little, odd community which isn’t surprising considering that you’re Marcus’s old friend.”

Phil turned so sharply he almost knocked the thermos over.

”What?” he asked, incredulous. Melinda had used one of Nick’s old aliases known only to few and with a familiarity that was…disconcerting.

”Just remember that you’re not alone. Whatever it is, my door is always open.”

Unsure of what else to do, Phil nodded. ”Thanks,” he said quietly.

Melinda gave her another long look. ”Okay then.” She raised her voice and continued, ”Let’s get back to eating before Jasper finishes all the Rocky Roads.”

”I heard that, and I saved you one!” Jasper called from the table.

Phil grinned and went to pour more coffee.

 

* * *

 

The potluck brunch resulted in so many leftovers that Phil didn’t need to go to the store until Thursday, and even then only to get some milk and OJ. He briefly considered getting chocolate but he was still nursing a serious hangover because of Chloe’s Rocky Roads and Jemma’s mudcake so he decided to get some fruits instead.

He walked around the aisle on his way to get the OJ and froze.

A couple of feet in front of him, Clint was frowning at an instant Swiss Chocolate package like it had somehow offended him.

Phil felt light-headed and shaky at the same time. For some time, he just stared, unable to decide whether to turn around and leave or say hi. His heart was hammering and his hands felt sweaty and he was pretty sure that if he tried to say something now, all that would come out would be a dry croak.

Finally, he slowly walked forward and stopped by Clint’s side, fully expecting him to look up and notice him. When he didn’t, Phil felt at a loss. Finally, he reached out his hand to grab a Swiss Chocolate package himself, turned towards Clint and said, ”Hi Clint.”

He wasn’t sure what he thought would happen but a violent jerk that made Clint drop his chocolate package and stumble a couple of steps back wasn’t it. Instinctively, he reached out to grab his shoulder to steady him but dropped it when Clint flinched from under him.

At a loss for words, Phil stood there, feeling suddenly stupid.

Clint’s eyes were as blue as they had been two decades ago and, even though the lines on his face were more prominent, cutting deep ridges on his brow and around his mouth, his features were as familiar as ever.

But that was where the similarities ended.

While the man in Phil was shaken speechless, the doctor in him cataloged the differences with ease. The Clint Phil remembered had stood straight and faced the world with sharp, keen eyes and a grin on his face. This Clint was slightly hunched over like he was carrying a great weight on his shoulders and his eyes were duller, like the light had gone out of them. He looked frail, oddly old and young at the same time, and his eyes darted everywhere, hyperaware and refusing to meet Phil’s gaze.

That and so much more about him screamed of PTSD.

When Clint’s eyes finally met his, Phil offered him a small, hesitant smile. ”Hi Clint,” he said again, softer.

”Phil?” Clint asked slowly. ”Is it really you? What…what are you doing here?”

”Um, we live here,” Phil said. ”We moved in some time ago. But what are _you_ doing here?”

Clint blinked and frowned. ”We?” he asked. His gaze dropped down to Phil’s hand holding the chocolate package and widened a bit. Then he closed his eyes and he whispered, ”Shit.”

”What?” Phil asked, confused. ”What’s wrong?”

”Goddamnit, Nat!” Clint muttered and turned around.

”Clint, wait,” Phil called. He reached out and then stopped, staring at his hand hovering in the midair.

His wedding ring.

He still had it on because he hadn’t had it in him to take it off yet. Feeling lost, he let his hand drop and stared at the direction Clint had gone.

He had no idea what had just happened.


	3. Interlude: Letters, part I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> These were trickier than I thought! Shoutout to [Naoe](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Naoe) for helping me out. <3

Dear Phil,

I dunno how 2 do thiz. Yanno, rite letters. It wasnt a thing where I am from.

Izzt funni that I miss you? I no I prolly shuldnt but I do.

Ok, so, Esmerraldy made mor pancakes. ’Member thoz big fluffy ones krisp on the outside? I et a7 and then had 2 lie on my side cuz I thogh Id barf. Worth it tho. I dun care wat Barn sez, Esme makes the best.

I been prakting alot. My thing and that thing you showed me. I think I got the 6 part thang I tole you about fore you left? Member? Jac yelz les but he wanna hit me if I mes up. Its stupid cuz he can hurt my eyes then I wont work nomore.

Aniwayz I got 2go cuz ~~show~~ my shift starts in a bit.

—C

 

* * *

 

Dear Phil,

Member wot I writ you inna las one? I fuund that book and I tryn 2red it. I like th story. Theyr like you n me, rite?

Barn lauffs at me cuz I rite you. He sez 1 lik you wont neva rite back 2 1 like me. I hit em on iz nose. I no you cant rite me cuz we move 2 much.

I miss you.

You left ur shirt here. I sleep in it. I like how it feelz.

—C

 

* * *

 

Been dreeming bout you.

Last nite I woke up inna midle of it. It was sad cuz you tachd me in that dreem and now I gotta do it meself. Had 2be qwiet cuz Barn was back fast. I think hez seeing some one. I thot he’d be more nice but he’s not. It sucks.

It dn’t feel like you when I tooch myself. I like ur hands more.

—C

 

* * *

 

Dear Phil,

You weren’t my first one, y’know? I’m not sure if I ever told you that but you weren’t. I’ve had others before, but they weren’t good. I thought it couldn’t be good but wit you… It was ammazing from the start.

I still think your dick is pretty. It’s thick and long and the head looks really nice when it’s all red and slick. You taste good, to. A bit salty and bitter but it’s ok cuz it’s you. I like how you fit in my mouth and how I felt like I couldn’t breath when you pushed so far I thought I’d choke, but it was so good. I know you liked it too. I remember how you looked like back then. Your’ eyes were all wide and your mouth was open like you were surprised.

I dunno why you were surprised. It was just me.

But I liked most the way you felt inside me. I liked how you pushed into me like an animal but also when you were gentle and nice.

You made me feel all warm up inside.

I never felt like that with anyone else.

—C

 

* * *

 

Dear Phil,

Today I saw someone who looks like you. But he isn’t you. Only you are you.

I miss you.

When are you coming home?

—C

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...yes, Clint got his hands on some erotica and tried to tell Phil how he felt.


	4. Three

Phil had no idea how he made it home from the store. He kept playing the interaction over and over in his head, analyzing the tone of his voice and the way he had moved but he still couldn’t wrap his head around what had happened.

To say his thoughts were all over the place, was an understatement.

If Phil believed in fate or karmic laws, he might have said that meeting Clint now was a sign. Except that this Clint wasn’t the man Phil had known. No, this Clint was a shadow of the man he’d once loved more than life itself, a caricature or an empty shell of the one that had once been brimming with life and curiosity.

Then again, Phil wasn’t a fool. He recognized PTSD when he saw it, both because of his medical training and because of first-hand experience. He’d done enough tours in Afghanistan to be familiar with the symptoms but witnessing them on Clint was shocking.

The Clint he knew had hated the army and everything it represented, so Phil was having a hard time believing he had enlisted. That meant that he had been through something bad in his daily life, which was in a way even more frightening.

Chloe was busy with a school assignment and mostly kept to herself that evening. She even had her nose buried in an article about global warming during dinner, and Phil was too relieved to scold her about reading while eating. But he also knew that Chloe saw more than she let on and it would be just a matter of time until she confronted him.

He’d cross the bridge when he came to it.

He slept fitfully only to wake up with the taste of dust and blood in his mouth and his heart pounding in his ears. His mind swam with images of bare skin and burning sun as he slowly pushed himself to sit up and rubbed a hand across his face. It had been years since a nightmare like that, but he didn’t have to think hard to know what had triggered it this time.

It was only 4:45 am, and he stifled a groan. He knew himself better to than trying to get more sleep so he could as well get up. He spent a good half hour in a hot shower, leaning his forehead against the wall as the water poured down his back until it turned cold, and avoided his own eyes as he shaved. He wasn’t interested in seeing who was staring back at him from the bathroom mirror.

For a moment, he entertained the idea of staying home to nurse the migraine that was slowly creeping in on him but then decided against it. He actually had paperwork to do.

Leaving home early also meant arriving early at work which eventually led to Jemma and Fitz worriedly checking in on him as soon as they got to work. It was heartwarming but when Jemma knocked on his door for the third time in two hours to ask if he was alright, it was getting a bit too much.

”I’m fine, Jemma. Really,” Phil repeated, with the tiniest bit of strain in his voice. ”Just tired, that’s all.”

”I’m sorry, boss, but…” she got a pinched look on her face. ”I don’t mean to be rude but you are not fine. Your breathing is shallow, you are jumpy, and you haven’t even finished the slice of cake I brought you!” She paused. ”Not that you’re required to eat it, of course, but considering your love of pastries and all things sweet, it’s _uncommon,”_ she rushed to continue. ”And it’s red velvet cake, one of your favorites, which I don’t understand at all because it’s not nearly as tasty as carrot cake or pecan pie. But I guess we’re all entitled to our opinions and—”

”Jemma, stop,” Fitz interrupted from behind her, poking her to the side. ”You’re rambling again.”

She blinked several times and gave Phil a bashful smile. ”I’m sorry. I’m just worried. _We’re_ worried. This…moping isn’t like you!”

”I’m not moping,” Phil muttered.

Fitz cleared his throat. ”What she means to say is, is there anything we can do?” he asked, cocking his head.

”I’m…” Phil paused to collect his thoughts. ”I’m sorry that I’ve been preoccupied. Something happened that reminded me of someone I once knew, that’s all.”

”I told you it was a heartache thing,” Jemma whispered to Fitz and jumped when Phil cleared his throat.

”Is there something else that’s troubling you?” Phil asked with a pointed look. ”If not, I’d like to continue working.”

”No, nothing else. Carry on, boss,” Jemma said with that certain gentle smile that said she tried to be cheery but that she still wanted to walk over to him and smother him in hugs.

When the door closed behind them, Phil took his glasses off and rubbed a hand over his face. It was going to be a long eight hours.

 

* * *

 

A couple of days later, Chloe had apparently had enough.

Phil had caught her glancing at him from the corner of her eye every now and then with an odd look on her face. So, when she confronted him one evening, he couldn’t say he was exactly surprised.

”Did you love mom?” Chloe asked, pushing the spoon in her yogurt back and forth. She frowned and looked up, fixing her intent eyes on him. ”You cried at her funeral.”

Phil lowered his tea mug on the table and sighed. ”Yes, I loved her,” he said. ”And I’m going to miss her for the rest of my life.”

”But you didn’t love her like you loved—still love?— _him.”_

”Sweetheart, people can love many people at the same time,” he said gently. ”But no, I didn’t love her like I love him.”

Chloe dropped all pretense of eating, leaned her elbows on the table, and cocked her head. ”Why?” she asked, like it was that simple.

”It’s not that—”

”If you say it’s not that simple, I’ll throw away all your fancy-ass coffee.”

Phil paused and gave her a flat look. She gave him a grin full of teeth.

”Fine,” Phil said and sighed. ”But it _is_ complicated.”

She shrugged. ”Life is complicated,” she said with the all-suffering air of a teenager who finds herself already weary of life. It was terribly cute but Phil knew better than telling her that.

He was silent for a moment, collecting his thoughts. ”Clint was…exceptional,” he finally said, dropping his gaze to his hand. Doing so, he missed the way Chloe mouthed the name. ”Everyone thought he was a dumb kid but he was bright as a star, outshining everyone around him. He was a firecracker, a storm, a hurricane that swept me right off my feet, an ocean I’d gladly drown in. He was unlike anyone I’d ever met before—or would meet, by that matter.”

”He sounds like something,” Chloe said softly. ”What happened?”

Phil shook his head. ”I don’t know. Our relationship was difficult in many ways but I wanted to make it work. He…didn’t.”

”Oh,” Chloe said with wide eyes.

”Your mother knew, of course,” Phil added. ”For a long time, she and Nick were the reasons I survived.”

”Uncle Nick should’ve kicked his ass,” Chloe huffed.

”Oh, he was going to but I said no.”

”Why?”

Phil gave her a sad smile. ”You’ll understand some day,” he said quietly and sipped his tea. It had grown cold but he didn’t mind. The slightly bitter taste eased his mind. They sat in silence for a long while and he was sure Chloe had dropped the issue.

”He’s here, isn’t he?” Chloe said out of the blue.

Phil jerked his head up, spilling tea on his hand without realizing it.

”Dad, please,” Chloe huffed. ”You’ve been off ever since I found the letters. You and Melinda had some weird one-to-one conversation when we held the Sunday brunch, but I didn’t realize how bad it was until the next Thursday. Dad, you looked like you were sick!” She let out a frustrated breath. ”I mean, how blind you think I am?”

”Honey—” Phil tried but didn’t know what to say. ”I’m not talking with you about this,” he finally stated, barely able to keep his voice level.

She rolled her eyes. ”Yeah, I know. I just wanted you to know that I’m not, you know, _mad_ at you or anything. I mean, Mom was awesome. She was steady and reliable, the rock you could lean on and the ground that held you up. But this Clint guy?” Chloe shook her head. ”He’s your Sun and Stars, that’s obvious.”

Phil gave her a flat look. ”Have you been watching Game of Thrones again?”

She blew him a raspberry. ”But I’m right, aren’t I?”

Phil sighed. He seemed to be doing that a lot lately. ”Yes, I guess so.”

They fell silent, and moment later, Chloe asked, ”So, what are you going to do?”

”I already said—”

”That you’re not talking with me about this,” Chloe interrupted. ”Yeah, I get it. And I’m not going to, I don’t know, ask to be your BFF or anything. But you’re my dad. You’re important to me. I want to see you happy, okay?” She sniffed, aiming for nonchalance and failing spectacularly. ”I mean, you should definitely go get that ass.”

Phil groaned. ”Chloe, please never say that again.”

”It was the first and the last time, I swear,” she said. ”But seriously, you don’t need to shield me or anything. I’m a big girl, okay?”

Phil gave his daughter a long look, traced his gaze from that one stubborn curl on her left temple to the arch of her brow and to her nose that she, fortunately, had inherited from her mother, to her confident smirk. He was lucky to have such a wonderful daughter.

”Something on my face?” Chloe asked, raising a brow.

Phil shook his head. ”I was just thinking that I’m the luckiest dad in the world,” he said.

Chloe made a face. ”Eww, feelings.”

”You started it,” Phil pointed out. ”But what comes to my love life or the lack of it: I appreciate your input but it isn’t something you need to worry about.” She opened her mouth to intervene but Phil raised a finger to silence her. ”You are entitled to your opinion and you’re free to express it, but my decisions are my own.” He gave her a sad smile. ”We’re talking about something that happened twenty years ago to two men that are very different people now. We’re not the same. Not anymore.”

She was silent for a moment and then asked, quietly, ”Is that why you used past tense about him? You said he was this and that, not that he is.”

”Perhaps. Probably.”

She nodded. ”Okay. But I meant what I said, dad. If you want to date, it’s okay. If you don’t want to date, that’s also okay. And I really, _really_ don’t care if it’s a man or a woman. Or, I don’t know, something else.”

Phil quirked a smile. ”You do realize that declarations like that are sealed with a hug?” he asked. When Chloe rolled her eyes as she rounded the table and stepped into his hug, he squeezed her hard, kissed the top of her head, and whispered, ”I love you, badger.”

She growled and poked him on the side. ”I’ve told you for ten years not to call me that!” she hissed. Then she sniffed and said, ”I love you too, dad.”

 

* * *

 

In many ways, Dorrian was the picture perfect small town that would’ve been the pride and joy of any realtor or travel agency. Despite its size, it didn’t have the stifling feel Phil remembered all too well from his own childhood in a small Midwest town. It was somehow _bigger_ which was mostly because the people.

Over time, as Phil and Chloe had slowly started to accumulate to their new home town, the way they were treated had gradually started to change. It wasn’t anything Phil could put his finger on, not quite, but he felt it. It was the way Steve and Peggy, the owners of The Howling Commandos B&B greeted him in the grocery store and how he caught Peggy glancing at him from the corner of her eye. Or the way the town vet Dr. Banner asked if they had a dog or if they were considering getting one. Or the way Deputy Lehnsherr looked at his driver’s license just slightly longer than necessary.

And then there was the strange feeling of being…not watched as such, but being scrutinized. Again, Phil couldn’t pinpoint an exact moment it happened or the person responsible, but at times he sensed he was being observed. It was the same peculiar prickling in the nape of his neck he’d experienced overseas and it made him uneasy.

It might also be that he’d spent too much time with Nick. The man was as paranoid as they got and over the years, it was bound to rub off on Phil as well.

At the same time, he couldn’t deny the fact that Dorrian was an exceptionally well-maintained for a town its size and population. Its infrastructure was better than he’d imagined, and the more he thought about it, the more obvious it came that someone had put a lot of money into running the place even though Dorrian itself was nothing special. Sure, it was a lovely town but it had no famous holiday resorts, no hot springs, natural phenomena, or wide national parks. Considering the lack of large tourist masses and practically nonexistent taxes, the town budget made absolutely no sense.

All in all, Dorrian was a friendly, polite place that felt just slightly off, not enough to alarm him but enough to make him wonder.

And yet, everything felt perfectly normal the next Saturday when he visited Mockingjay and Lance handed him his his glass, leaned over the counter, and asked how they were settling in.

”We’re fine, thanks,” Phil said. ”Still getting used to the slower life but getting there.”

Lance nodded. ”Give it time, mate,” he said solemnly. ”Give it time.”

”Stop harassing the patrons,” Bobbi whispered as she passed him, her hands full of stacked glasses. ”Hi, Phil,” she greeted warmly over her shoulder.

”I’m not harassing, I’m giving solid advice,” Lance said, raising his voice. ”As the owner of this fine establishment, it’s practically in my job description!”

Phil raised a brow at Bobbi’s snort and greeted Lance with his glass before making his way to an empty table in the corner.

He took a sip, savouring the strong aroma of hop. Mockingjay’s newest batch of microbrew was a treat, something he allowed himself once a month. As a recovering alcoholic, he was far too familiar how easy it was to slip, which was the reason he’d been honest about his drinking problem since the first time he visited Bobbi and Lance’s place.

Slipping would be so easy now, with newly resurfaced memories.

”If you keep frowning like that, your face will stay that way,” an amused British voice said from his left.

Phil looked up and smiled. ”Chloe keeps saying the same,” he said sheepishly. ”But I guess that a man of my age is bound to be wrinkly. How have you been, professor?”

Professor Xavier smiled. ”You really should call me Charles. Mind if I join you? You just happen to sit at the table that has a convenient slot for my chair.” He hesitated before continuing, ”Unless you are expecting someone?”

The strange tone in his voice gave Phil a momentary pause but he didn’t dwell on it. ”Actually, I’m exiled from my own home. Chloe and Daisy Sitwell are having a sleepover and I decided that for my sanity’s sake, it’s probably better if I vacate the premises.”

”Oh, teenage girl drama,” Charles said as he maneuvred his chair in place. ”I remember that all too well from my sister’s teenage years.”

”Do you have children of your own?” Phil asked.

Something wistful passed over Charles’s face. ”No,” he said. ”It’s…complicated.”

”I hear that’s the new trend,” Phil said dryly and was slightly startled when Charles let out a full-belly laugh. He was about to ask what was so funny but didn’t have the chance.

”Here’s your pot of dried leaves soaked in warm water, professor,” Lance said when he brought over a tray with a large ceramic pot, a cup and a saucer.

”Hunter, behave!” Bobbi called from the other side of the pub.

”Sorry!” he shouted back over his shoulder and then stage-whispered, ”Leaves. Water. Enjoy.”

Bemused, Phil looked at his retreating back before turning his gaze back to Charles.

”He takes it as a personal offence that I don’t want to drink their coffee but actually prefer tea,” Charles said, amused.

”It looked like you’ve had that conversation a couple of times already,” Phil pointed out.

”Several times,” Charles agreed. ”During the past, oh, eight years. Lance has perseverance when he’s a man on a mission.”

”Coffee! Coffee is the drink from the gods!” Lance shouted from across the room, followed by an ”Ouch!” when Bobbi smacked him with a dish rag.

Charles rolled his eyes and Phil hid his grin in his glass.

They shared a moment of silence while Charles prepared himself a cup of tea. After taking a delicate sip, he lowered the cup on the saucer with a soft clink, leaned back in his wheelchair and asked, ”Do you want to talk about it?”

”I…”

”Not here and not now,” Charles continued calmly. His eyes were warm and serious and despite him being younger than Phil, his gaze was intense and old. ”Sooner or later, you have to talk or it will eat you up from the inside.”

”Are you talking as a professor of psychology or from a personal experience?” Phil asked.

”Yes.”

When Phil gave him an unimpressed look, Charles inclined his head at the other patrons. ”Let’s just say that most of us know how it feels to lose someone. Dorrian is a good place to heal.”

Phil didn’t know what to say to that.

 

* * *

 

After that one meeting in the store, Phil hadn’t seen Clint around. Sure, he hadn’t been actively looking, but he was man enough to admit that he’d expected—hoped, even—that they’d meet again. Or that he’d at least catch a glimpse of Clint on the street.

Then again, what _could_ he do if they met again? He had no idea where Clint would stayor how to find him. In his last letters, Clint had mentioned a friend but Phil didn’t have her contact information either.

A small voice in the back of his head reminded him that there was always Nick. Phil could tap into his resources and cash in a favour (or ten) to find Clint, but he didn’t want to do that. Tracking down an old lover was hardly acceptable use of Nick’s contacts.

Besides, he didn’t even know what Clint thought of him. He might despise him just as much as he had despised him back when he’d walked out of Phil’s life.

No, perhaps it was just better to let past stay in the past.

Of course, _that_ was when he got an unscheduled visitor.

On a quiet Thursday afternoon, Phil was pouring over his papers and trying to figure out a proper way to formulate an answer to an especially annoying insurance liaison. He still had a stack of backlog waiting for him, everything from unchecked blood work to some consultations he really should’ve taken care of a week ago and house calls to elderly patients who were too fragile to come over.

When he heard a knock and the door opened, he didn’t even raise his head but just let out an inquiring sound.

”Phil?” Jemma peeked from the doorway. ”I’m sorry to bother you but there’s someone to see you.”

Phil frowned and glanced at him over the rim of his glasses. ”Who is it? I thought my appointments were done for the day.”

”I’m sorry, she didn’t give a name,” Jemma stage whispered and then let out a small, outraged sound as a short, red-haired woman pushed by her. She walked confidently in, a small smile playing on her lips, and sat down on the chair across Phil’s table, never breaking the eye-contact.

”Thank you, Jemma,” Phil said calmly, dismissing her.

 _’Sorry,’_ she whispered again before leaving.

Phil took off his glasses, then leaned forward, resting his forearms on the table, and clasped his hands together. It was a relaxed and interested pose, but he sensed he didn’t fool the woman even a one bit. ”Good afternoon, Miss. I’m Dr. Coulson. Why don’t you tell me how I can help you today?”

The woman cocked her head and the smile stayed but her eyes were sharp and calculating. They reminded him of Clint, for all people.

”You haven’t been here long, have you?” she asked. Her voice was low a slightly hoarse and it carried an accent he couldn’t place.

”Several months now,” Phil answered calmly.

”Do you like the town?”

Phil gave her a mild smile. ”Yes. This is a very welcoming and pleasant place.”

Her gaze darted to his ring and back into his eyes so fast that hadn’t he been looking, he would’ve missed it.

”Does your wife agree?” she asked in the same, calm voice that betrayed nothing. In fact, she was a perfect picture of an interested client. The polite impression on her face never changed and nothing in her impeccably done hair or the effortless way she held herself belied that she was something else than she seemed to be. She held Phil’s gaze with confident ease born of years and years of…what?

Letting out a controlled breath, Phil straightened his pose. ”I’m widowed but I guess you already knew that,” he answered. ”Would you like to tell me who you really are?”

Her eyes lit up and her lips drew into a wide, genuine smile, revealing a row of white teeth.

”You’re fast,” she said. ”Hi, Phil. I’m Nat.”


	5. Four

For a moment, Phil just stared.

Nat.

He had been wondering about the name ever since his unfortunate meeting with Clint in the grocery store. _’Goddamit, Nat,’_ Clint had said before fleeing, but whatever Phil had expected, it wasn’t this.

Her.

His ranger training was screaming at him that despite her petite frame, this woman was lethal and if he let her out of her sight, he’d regret it.

”Hello, Nat,” he finally said, keeping his posture relaxed and his voice even.

She quirked her lips and looked around the room.

His office wasn’t a big one but it was cozy, comfortably furnished with a sturdy desk and comfortable chairs. The examining table and his basic supplies hid behind a screen and the ochre-colored curtains added warmth around the privacy screen protected windows. Instead of the usual array of medical degrees on the walls, Phil had art; original paintings, photography prints, and a certain old circus poster he’d carried with him for ages but never seemed to have the mindset to get rid of.

Phil had a feeling that Nat missed nothing.

Her eyes paused at said poster before turning back to Phil. ”You have a nice office,” she said.

Phil inclined his head. ”Thank you, although credit belongs to Jemma and Fitz and my predecessor. I merely moved in.”

She cocked her head. ”Really? I didn’t peg Dr. Lee a circus enthusiast.”

Her tone or pose never changed but suddenly, Phil felt like a bug under a microscope.

For a moment, she was silent, contemplating something. Finally, when she seemed to come to a conclusion, she asked, ”Do you know why I’m here?”

”I have no idea,” Phil said carefully. ”But I think I might know whom it concerns.”

She pursed her lips and gave him a considering look. ”Do you still love him?” she asked.

Phil leaned back in his chair, slightly taken aback by her bluntness but also relieved that she was straightforward. ”Look, I don’t know why you wanted to see me or why you think you’re entitled an answer to that particular question. But since everyone seems to be interested in my non-existent love life nowadays, why the hell not?” He sighed. ”I loved him once. I was ready to move heaven and earth for him, but he…” Phil shook his head and gave her a self-deprecating quirk of his lips. ”He was the one who ended things. Whether I still love him or not doesn’t really matter.”

Nat let out a non-committal sound.

”I assume you’ve known him for some time,” Phil said, not really expecting an answer. ”If so, I’m sure you’re familiar with his side of the story. But do you have any idea what he did to me? What that break-up caused?” He tilted his head, braving Nat’s intense gaze. ”It nearly killed me. It took me years and a couple of very dedicated friends to get me out of the hole I tried to drown myself in. But I got out.” He clenched his hand into a fist and leaned forward. ”And I have no wish to go back there.

”I survived losing him. I got married, became a father, and lost my wife. I survived that too. Now, I have a daughter to look after and a job I’m pretty good at. People depend on me. I can’t just…jump into anything. That time is over.”

The office was silent after his tirade.

Phil felt drained and for a first time in _years,_ he really wanted a stiff drink. Or a dozen.

”Well, at least you’re honest,” Nat murmured. ”That’s a good thing. Honesty goes a long way.” She stood up in one fluid move and clasped her hands behind her back, standing in a modicum of a parade rest. Phil wondered what her rank was—or if she even was a part of any official army branch.

”There’s something you need to know, though,” she said. ”There’s a reason why you both are in Dorrian. You can blame me if you want an easy target, but you probably should call Marcus and ask what he’s up to. Unless you prefer staying in the dark, of course.” She paused before continuing, slower. ”Also, Clint gave me this.”

Phil had no idea where she procured an envelope as she took a couple of steps forward and placed it in front of the dumbfounded Phil.

”I don’t know what’s in it but like you said, I’ve heard his side of the story. Perhaps it is time for you to hear it too. And Phil?” she continued, surprisingly gentle. ”If you really have moved on like you claim, you should be able to say his name.”

Without further ado, she turned around and let herself out.

For a moment, the only thing Phil was capable of was staring at the door. He was jerked from his daze when Jemma opened the door with a mug in her hand.

”I thought you might need a cup,” she said. ”You look a bit shaken.”

Phil stretched his lips into a slightly strained smile and said, ”Thank you, Jemma. I’m fine, you can go now.”

She gave him a pinched look that told him exactly how convincing he was but she didn’t argue.

Phil’s eyes returned back to the letter in front of him even before Jemma had closed the door. Closure, Nat had implied. Did he want it? Would it be easier to try to forget?

Then again, he’d kept all Clint’s letters, treasured them, even. It would be dishonest of him to discard this one without giving it a chance.

He picked up the sealed envelope and traced his finger along the slanted letters of his name. The curve of _’P’_ was slightly smudged, like his name had been written in a hurry and the ink hadn’t had the time to dry properly. Slowly, bracing himself, he opened it with Dr. Lee’s antique letter opener and gently pulled out two sheets of paper. They were written full on both sides in the familiar, crooked handwriting, the letters as rushed-in and jumbled together on the right side as Phil remembered. He put the now empty envelope to the side, flattened the papers in front of him, and took a deep breath.

_Dear Phil,_

Phil closed his eyes and gritted his teeth. How many times had he opened a letter to see those exact words? How many times had he torn open the paper to see whether Clint had written him about the Strongman and his wife The Bearded Lady or if it was another letter where Clint described the dreams he’d had about Phil? How many times over the years had he reread the words, trying to remember the way Clint had said his name?

How many times had he read _’Dear Phil,’_ until it turned into _’Hi Phil,’_ and until the last letter that started with only one word; his name.

He swallowed, opened his eyes, and started to read.

 

* * *

 

By the time he finally emerged from his office, the practice was dark and silent as Jemma and Fitz had left a while ago. Phil was glad—he was in no mood for company. He picked up his jacket and locked the door behind him, walked up to his car, and…just sat there, gripping the steering wheel and staring into nothing.

> _I’ve hurt people, Phil. I’ve killed people and it makes me a monster._
> 
> _I’m not asking you to forgive me cuz I know that’s not meant for me. Forgiveness._
> 
> _But I never wanted to hurt you, Phil. You gotta believe that._

Oh, Clint.

Phil closed his eyes and dropped his head against the wheel, barely missing the horn. He knew he probably should head home—he’d promised Chloe they’d make pizza from scratch—but even the mere thought of cooking made his stomach lurch. Besides, Chloe would know something terrible had happened the moment she lay her eyes on Phil.

He let out a weak chuckle. ’Something terrible,’ right. But not to him, no. He’d just read about it in the safe comfort of his office, ages after it had come to pass.

And all these years, he’d remembered Clint; first with lust, love, and longing and then with bitterness and wistful regret, and he’d had no idea. All the time he’d spend trying to drown in his booze and self-pity, Clint had been…

He swallowed. Could he have done something to help him? Could he have made a difference?

Perhaps not, but then again, he’d never find out now, would he?

He startled when someone knocked on the driver’s side window and as he glanced to the side, he saw a deputy uniform. He rubbed a hand over his face and rolled the window down.

Deputy Lehnsherr cocked a brow and leaned his hand on the driver’s side door. ”Everything alright there, doc?” he asked as he took a practiced look at the insides of the car. ”You’ve been sitting there for some time.”

Phil let out a long breath. ”I,” he started and shook his head. ”I just got some…bad news about someone I know.”

Deputy Lehnsherr frowned. ”You look a little green around the gills, doc. Are you sure you’re fit to drive?”

Phil’s first instinct was to say yes but when he let go of the wheel, his hands shook so much he dropped them on his lap. ”As a matter of fact, I don’t think I am,” he said mildly.

Lehnsherr nodded. ”That happens sometimes. Bad news can fuck you up, bad. Is there anyone you can call or do you want me to drive you?”

Phil blinked a couple of times, trying to collect his thoughts.”I—” he started, but was cut short when his vision was filled with golden fur and he suddenly had an enthusiastic kiss from an enthusiastic dog.

”Dugan, down!” Steve barked from somewhere behind Deputy Lehnsherr. The dog didn’t listen to him but tried to climb on Phil’s lap through the open window instead.

”I’m sorry, Phil,” Peggy apologized as she jogged up to Steve. ”He’s usually better behave— what happened?” she asked sharply, rushing to Phil’s side.

When Phil didn’t respond, Lehnsherr said, ”He’s had an…emotional shock and isn’t fit to drive.”

The odd note in the deputy’s voice made Phil look up and he saw the way Steve, Peggy, and Deputy Lehnsherr exchanged a look. He didn’t have it in him to wonder what it was about and then Peggy looked at him sideways and said, ”Thank you, Erik, we’ll take it from here.”

Deputy Lehnsherr gave them a curt nod and said, ”Take care of yourself, Phil,” before he turned and walked to his car, parked at the curb.

”Okay then,” Peggy said. ”Dugan, move. Phil can’t get out of the car unless you give him space.”

In a sort of a daze, Phil found himself a passenger in his own car, moved gently but firmly from the driver’s seat to the back with three dogs. Steve sat behind the wheel and Peggy settled on the front seat. They didn’t talk on the way back but Phil noticed how they both kept glancing at him via the rearview mirror.

The house was dark when Steve pulled up and killed the engine. Phil didn’t resist when Peggy opened the back door to let the dogs out first before coaxing him out of the car and into the house.

”Apparently, Chloe is at Daisy’s,” Peggy said, pointing at a note taped to the foyer mirror.

Phil didn’t have it in him to feel guilty about the huge wave of relief that washed over him. ”Good. That’s good,” he said as he walked straight into the living room and sat heavily on the couch. Dugan climbed after him to lay down beside him and set his head on Phil’s lap. He concentrated on petting the silky, golden fur and ignored the soft clinking and murmured conversation from the kitchen.

A short moment later, Steve walked out from the kitchen, the two remaining dogs following him. He sat down on the armchair opposite the couch and leaned his left elbow on his knee, scratching a dog with his other hand.

”Do you want to talk about it?” Steve asked quietly after a moment.

”I really don’t know,” Phil said. And it was true. He wasn’t ashamed of his relationship with Clint but with all the new information he wasn’t sure if he was still allowed to talk about it. It wasn’t his tale, it was Clint’s. Phil had been just a passenger for part of the ride.

”Would it help if we talked about it?” Peggy asked as she walked up to them, holding a small tray with three mugs. She handed them both one before settling on the other end of the couch, cradling her mug.

Phil frowned. ”What?” he asked. He inhaled the strong flavor and took a sip, surprised about the taste. He was quite sure he didn’t have tea like this.

Peggy sipped her tea and said, calmly, ”I think it’s time to tell you what this town actually is. Why it exists as it does.”

”Peggy,” Steve said.

”Oh, don’t give me that look,” she scoffed. ”He’s here because of his connection to Marcus. He’s not an idiot.” She gave Phil a wry look. ”We already know you’ve noticed this isn’t exactly…a normal small town. And there’s a reason.”

Steve gave her a fondly exasperated look and shook his head. ”Do you know who Tony Stark is?” he asked.

Phil frowned and looked from Steve to Peggy and back. ”Tony Stark as in the obscenely rich guy who was kidnapped years ago and who then macgyvered himself to freedom? That Tony Stark?”

”So that’s a yes,” Steve said. ”Long story short, he suffered from extreme PTSD and had to be hospitalized. Due to several reasons that didn’t work out so well.”

”He tried to kill himself seven times and raze the hospital to the ground at least eleven,” Peggy interjected. ”It wasn’t a very healing environment.”

”Anyway,” Steve said, giving her a pointed look. ”After some very interesting and self-destructive turns, he ended up in here. And by that, I mean _in_ here, because he drove his Porsche into the creek and almost drowned.”

”I thought it was a Lamborghini,” Peggy said.

”Porsche, Lamborghini, Aston Martin, doesn’t matter,” Steve said, exasperated. ”Point is, he drove his _stupidly expensive car_ into the river and almost killed himself. He was dragged out by doc Lee who happened to be out fishing that day. His fishing line literally saved Tony’s life.”

”He also heard Tony’s name wrong and kept calling him Tony Stank even after he learned who he really was,” Peggy grinned. ”He really didn’t give a shit about pompous idiots who ruined his day off.”

”Lee? Do you mean my predecessor?” Phil asked.

Steve nodded. ”The one and only. He was a force to be reckoned with. He was the one who sorted Tony out and after, Tony pretty much bought the whole place.”

Phil frowned and took another sip of tea. ”So what does that have to do with Cl— what this town is?” he asked, hoping they hadn’t noticed his blunder.

”This place was about to die,” Peggy said softly. ”Tony put a lot of money and effort into restoration, plumbing, electricity, infrastructure…he pretty much built the town over. He calls this his safe haven.”

”Nobody knows where and how Tony and Marcus met but they’ve known each other for some time,” Steve added. ”Marcus is one of the few people Tony genuinely respects and Marcus…well, he’s learned to trust Tony.”

There it was again, the easy way the Dorrian residents dropped Nick’s alias around. Phil blew on his tea even though it was nowhere near hot anymore and glanced over the rim of the mug at the people he had started to think about as friends.

Steve was built like a man used to manual labor and he had a certain old-fashioned charm but Phil had seen enough to know there was some serious, raw power underneath his clean-cut neighborhood boy image. And Peggy looked like the picture perfect hostess of a small countryside B&B but he recognized the steel in her eyes and the way she carried herself. He was pretty sure they both had a military background and now that he thought about it, they weren’t the only ones.

He dropped his gaze to his mug and started categorizing his thoughts, went through them with meticulous care until he had everything sorted out.

Finally, he huffed and asked, ”So. Does everyone around here have PTSD?”

Steve blinked, then he snorted and shook his head. ”Yeah. I can see why Marcus recommended you.”

”Oh, and that. Is he some kind of a one-eyed fairy godmother to traumatized army vets?”

Peggy burst into laughter. ”Oh, God. I want to be present when you ask him that!” she chuckled, wiping her eyes.

”Believe me, I’m going to,” Phil muttered and trailed his fingers down Dugan’s neck.

”He’s really good at that,” Peggy said softly after a moment, reaching out her hand to scratch Dugan from behind the ear. The dog stretched his neck and positively preened, nuzzling his cheek against Phil’s chest.

”Huh?” Phil asked.

”Calming people down,” Peggy explained. ”Well, all our dogs have therapy dog training but over the years, Dugan has proven to be the best. Mostly it’s because he tends to just lie down and smother people in calmness and acceptance.” She smiled and arched a brow. ”People find it hard not to concentrate on petting him and, well, as you’ve probably noticed, feel a lot better a moment later.”

”Oh,” Phil said and then he scratched Dugan a bit more, murmuring ”Who’s a good boy? Such a good boy,” to him.

Dugan almost squirmed out of his skin and thumped his tail on the couch so hard it must hurt. As a result, the other two dogs hurried to Phil and before he had the chance to react, he had his lap full of three very excited Goldies who all wanted to show him just how good boys they were.

Steve chuckled. ”They’ll never leave you alone now.”

”I think I can live with that,” Phil said dryly, with a smile tugging his lips.

While he pet the dogs, Phil thought hard. Learning the truth—or a version of it—about Dorrian left Phil reeling, like the ground under his feet had shifted and he was about to topple over. He sensed there was more to Dorrian than Steve and Peggy had let on but he didn’t have it in him to prod it just yet. He needed to get his head sorted out about Clint first and _then_ he could concentrate on figuring out what was going on in his new hometown.

In a way, so many things made more sense now; the way people were slightly too aware of their surroundings, the overly good condition of the buildings and roads, the way he and Chloe had been invited in and how the town had conveniently accommodated itself around them.

And yet, absolutely _nothing_ made sense. He wondered if Dorrian truly existed or if it was just a front for something else.

”We know that this is a bit much to take in,” Peggy apologized, interrupting his train of thought. ”We’ve all been through this before.”

Phil pursed his lips. ”Actually, I’m not that surprised,” he said slowly.

”How so?” Steve asked.

Phil shook his head and snorted. ”Nick—that’s Marcus for you apparently—has always had a fondness for dramatics. His contingency plans have contingency plans and he’s a control freak. I consider myself as one of his closest friends and I don’t know half of what he’s been up to. He’s secretive and ruthless but he has vision.” He paused and shook his head, feeling slightly stupid. ”Now that I think about it, this place has a certain Nick-feel around it.”

”How did you two meet?” Peggy asked. ”In the army?”

”Yeah,” Phil said and leaned back on the couch. Dugan immediately squirmed to get himself fully on Phil’s lap. ”He was a Colonel when we met and already on his way out to CIA, I think. We kept in touch after he left.”

There was a moment of easy silence before Phil asked, ”This place is a safe haven for the strange, unusual, and damaged, right?”

Steve and Peggy shared a look. ”In a sense, yes,” she said with a small smile.

Phil nodded and frowned, thinking. _What the hell have you been up to, Nick?_ There were too many coincidences and too many things fit in place for it all to be random.

”So, does either of you know a red-haired woman named Nat?”

Both Steve and Peggy froze.

So, that was a yes.

 


	6. Interlude: Letters, part II

Dear Phil,

Its been long time. Sorry I didnt rite you earlier. I had stuff I had to take care of, just somethang I promised to fix and didnt want to fix. It sorta bited me in the butt anyways but its all sorted out now so thats good.

Been readin more, yanno? I got that list you wrote me before you left to the army and I been goin through it book by book. I really liked some (hobbit book was great!) some I didnt get. Like, mouses & men? What? The one ’bout the kids crashed on the island was really good but it made me sad cuz ~~it was like~~

The jungle book (not the Mowli one) is really odd but I kinda like how it makes my head buzz.

Remember the place we met? The boss said were going there next month and well stay there for some time so…

—C

 

* * *

 

Dear Phil,

I got your letter! Its weird. I mean, I know my letters fly a long way to you but I didnt get it before I got one back. The paper is diferent than what I have and it smells strange. Is it stupid that I think it smells of sun and sand?

You write so nice things. You really think Im all that? Beutiful and smart? I dont get it but I dont really look at myself in the mirror but I tried cuz your words and I still didnt get it. Is this one of those things where we dont see ourself as anything good but other people see it for us? Cuz I remember what you said ’bout yourself and that was all bullshit. Your smart and kind and I like to listen to you talk. And I like your eyes. And your body. And your dick.

I miss your smile.

—C

 

* * *

 

Dear Phil,

Barn ripped your letter. I got so mad I punched him in the nose, I think I broke it. Good for him, he should know that he cant just take my stuff.

I dont have much your stuff. I still sleep in your shirt and I have all your letters in that painted box you gave me in the last night we had. I only have nine now. It was my fault cuz I left your letter were he found it and he mocked me first and then ripped it. I dont get it. Why did he do it? Why does he care? If he has someone Im just happy hes happy, I dont have to be mean.

Sometimes I feel like I dont remember you good. Yesterday I tried to remember the song you sang to me and I couldnt and for a moment I though I couldnt breath.

Sorry. This letter is stupid.

—C

 

* * *

 

Hi Phil,

Sorry ’bout my writing. I got hurt at work last week and my sholder doesnt move good yet. Im benched for now but I hope it’ll get better soon. I dont like it when I cant work cuz the boss gets mad easy.

Barn has been an ass for some time. I think his girl dumped him and now hes mad at everybody and cuz I cant work hes mean at me. Its nothing new but he drinks more now and it makes him more mean.

—C

 

* * *

 

Hi Phil,

How did you know where are now? I was pretty surprised about your letter ~~cuz I didnt think~~ Sorry I havent been writing I know I promised and I try to keep my promises. My sholder still hurts sometimes and the boss has been working me more so Ive been really tired. Barn is still an ass but hes not so mean anymore. But he still drinks too much.

I think something is gonna change at work. Nobodys said nothing but things feel strange. I hope I still get to do my thing cuz its the only thing Im good at.

—C

 

* * *

 

Phil,

I know its been too long. I got your letter last month but I didnt have time to write you an answer. Ive been thinking about this a lot but I dont think theres much else I can do.

I cant do this anymore Phil. I know I promised to wait for you and I know you promised to come back but where are you? You promised to come back for christmas and you didnt. You promised to come back for the next christmas and you didnt come then either.

I cant do this.

You promised and you broke your promise. You said pretty things and you lied to me. If you wanted to come back you would’ve come back so what does it mean when you chose to stay there? That you dont want to be here with me.

Are you ashamed of me? Of us? I know I didnt go to school and I dont have a fancy job but you said you didnt care. I guess you lied about that too, right?

I know Im nothing compared to you with your nice family and education but you made me feel like it didnt matter.

I guess you lied about that too.

I dont want to wait anymore. I dont want to wait in shame for someone who choose army and all it means. I dont want to be some dirty little secret you can forget.

Dont came back. I dont want to see you anymore.

Its over.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> In case anyone is interested, the books Clint talks about in the first letter are The Hobbit, Of Mice and Men, The Lord of Flies, The Jungle Book, and A Hundred Years of Solitude.


	7. Five

Phil closed his eyes, let his head fall back against the couch, and muttered, ”Oh fuck you, Nick.” He rubbed his hands over his face and sat back up, feeling tired to the bone, took a moment just to breathe. Then he asked, ”Who is she?”

”Why do you want to know?” Steve asked back. Phil got a feeling it was mostly for show.

”She came to see me,” he said.

”Is that what got you so shaken up?” Peggy asked gently. ”We’ve never seen you like that before.”

Phil breathed in deeply, held it for a while, and let it out in a slow, measured stream as he stroked Dugan’s chest. The dog had turned belly up and was now laying across his thighs with a look of pure bliss on his face.

”When I was in my twenties, before I enlisted, I had an affair,” Phil started slowly. ”No, not an affair,” he corrected with a slight frown. ”It was a relationship, even though it only lasted for one summer. I fell deeply in love with him and I honestly thought he felt the same. We had very different backgrounds but to me, it never mattered. I tried to make sure he knew that.

”I always knew I couldn’t stay, simply because I wanted to go to the army and, well, get them to pay for my education. My parents had paid my two sisters through college already and I didn’t want them to take a second mortgage to pay my med school bills. I told Clint that even though I’d be gone for some time, I’d come back to him.” He sighed. ”My first Christmas leave got canceled because my replacement was literally blown off the sky and the next year my unit was caught up in a sandstorm. I apologized, of course, and he said he understood. He wrote to me and I tried to write back whenever I could but it was difficult and not only because he was constantly on the move.” He looked up and saw understanding in Steve’s eyes. ”DADT was a bitch.”

He paused to pet Dugan and to collect his thoughts.

”I had it all figured out. I’d finish my tours and come back to him and then we’d build a life together. Get a house, adopt or foster some kids, you know?” He huffed a self-deprecating laugh and shook his head. ”I was quite naïve back then.”

”It’s never naïve to dream,” Peggy said softly.

Phil shrugged. ”Well,” he said and stopped, not knowing how to continue. He took a sip of his now cold tea and cleared his throat.

”I loved his letters. At first, they were frankly almost illegible but they were happy and short, and so full of _him._ Over time, they got a bit more elaborate, probably because he learned to read and write better. He wrote of everyday things, what he’d done and what he’d seen, and when he learned to read fluently, he told me about the books he’d read.” He smiled, remembering how hyped up Clint had been when he’d read Mary Poppins for the first time.

He sighed as his smile withered away.

”I don’t know what happened,” he said quietly. ”At some point, his letters took a darker tone. They turned cold, somehow. I tried to write him back more when I noticed but I don’t know how many of my letters he received. To my end, it never seemed like he did.

”And then I got the one that ended everything.”

He raised his head and looked at them, his eyes flitting from Steve to Peggy, and then back to his lap. ”I must admit I got reckless after that and ended up injuring myself. I didn’t care because it gave me the chance to come back and search for him. Long story short, I tracked him down and went to see him but he… he pretty much threw me out. I’d never seen him like that. I’d never seen him look at me like that. Like I was something despicable, something he never wanted to see again.

”It got pretty bad for me after. I’d thought I was coming home to him, _for_ him, and he said he didn’t even want to think about me. As a hindsight he was probably at least partially right—why would a young, gorgeous man like him want to wait for me? It wasn’t like I could be open about us, no matter how much I wanted to.” Phil dragged a hand across his face and shook his head. ”I was never ashamed of myself or him but, well…

He fell silent for a moment before quietly continuing, ”Not to go into details, Nick dragged me out of the bottle and sorted me out. He’s the one who pushed me to become a ranger and the one who later made me to finish up my degree.

”He was my best man when I got married. He’s Chloe’s godfather. He was there when we buried my wife. And, apparently, he’s the reason why Clint and I met again.”

He paused, stroked Dugan’s fur, and swallowed.

”When Nat came to see me today, she gave me a letter from Clint.” He let out a long breath and rubbed a hand across his face. ”All these years, I thought he’d just walked out on me. That he…I don’t know, got bored of me, of my choices, of not having the chance to love me openly. All this time, I thought I wasn’t enough for him. And I had no idea.” He closed his eyes and let out a wet huff. _”No idea.”_

He felt like he couldn’t breathe, like he was drowning and couldn’t make it back to the surface. Dugan whined and snuggled closer and Phil wrapped his arms around him, buried his face into his soft fur, and tried to concentrate on trying to get his wildly galloping heart under control. Through the ringing in his ears, he heard someone getting up, take a couple of steps, and then he felt a warm pressure in the nape of his neck, sliding down his back in slow, steady swipes over and over and over again.

He wasn’t sure how long they sat there but eventually, Phil managed to gather up the slightly cracked pieces of himself and straightened up. His back would protest later about the hunched-over position he’d been for too long, but it was nothing a hot compress and a couple of muscle relaxants couldn’t handle.

”Thank you,” he said hoarsely, glancing at Peggy sitting by his side.

She shook her head and gave him a rueful smile. ”You’re welcome. Like I said, we’ve all been through this.” Her lip twitched and she gave a pointed look at his lap. ”Besides, it’s not me you should be thanking, it’s Dugan. He’s awesome.”

When he heard his name, Dugan’s ears perked and he thumped his tail on the couch.

Phil let out a wet chuckle. ”Yeah. He is pretty awesome.” He breathed in deep, held it, and then let it out. ”I have no idea what to do,” he admitted.

”What do you want to happen next?” Peggy asked back.

That was something Phil needed to think about.

 

* * *

 

It took him some time to convince Steve and Peggy that he was okay. They were reluctant to leave and made him promise he wouldn’t hesitate to call if he felt like it.

Phil understood the implication behind the words. ”I don’t feel like drinking,” he said quietly. ”Well, no. That’s a lie. I feel like I need a drink and in my old life, I would’ve opened a bottle of scotch and tried to ease the pain with booze. But I’ve been down that road before and I know exactly where it leads.” He shook his head and gave his friends a stilted smile. ”The only alcohol in the house is a third of a bottle of Pinot Noir that is probably more vinegar than wine by now. I appreciate your concern but you can go. I’ll manage.”

Steve gave him a long look. Then he nodded and said, ”If you’re sure.”

”I am.”

After some stern words, Dugan finally gave up pretending to be asleep, got up from Phil’s couch and followed his owners to the door.

”I’ll call you tomorrow,” Peggy said before she closed the door, and then Phil was alone.

He let out a long breath and for a moment, just stood still in the foyer. Then he shook his head—not unlike a dog—and made his way upstairs and into the bathroom. He was still feeling a bit shaky as he turned the shower on and undressed while the hot water steamed the space. He took a long shower and didn’t feel guilty about the using all the hot water. After, he donned on his old, comfy pajamas and the pink, fluffy socks that Chloe had given him as a Father’s Day gift a couple of years ago.

He wandered back into the kitchen and made himself a huge mug of hot chocolate topped with mini marshmallows and whipped cream. It was his guilty pleasure that made Chloe snicker. Together with the ugly and ridiculously soft socks, they created a sort of a safe space, a comfort zone he retreated to whenever he was sick or just feeling off.

Like now.

He sat at the kitchen table, sipped his chocolate and stared at his hands. His fingertips were wrinkly from the shower and the veins on the back of his hands stood prominent, running up towards his wrists and forearms. He trailed the vein of his left hand with his right forefinger and stopped at the base of his ring finger before gently rubbing the band itself. The gold was slightly dulled with age and wear but to him, it was as beautiful as it had been the day Rosalind had slipped it on.

Rosalind had known, of course. She’d known about Clint from the start, about their break-up and what a wreck it had left him, about his rapid decline down the bottle. She’d told him she understood but she’d also made it abundantly clear that if he ever went down the bender again, she’d leave him. And he’d believed her.

Rosalind had been fierce, both in her love and in her determination.

Phil sighed and sipped his overly sweet drink. Chloe had been right about the difference in how he’d loved her and Clint. Because Phil _had_ loved her, from the bottom of his heart. Rosalind had been a wonderful woman who’d known her own worth and had taken none of his shit. She’d been his equal in love, parenting, and partnership, and he’d miss her for the rest of his life.

They’d met at a medical conference. Phil had been in the audience and he’d been riveted by her passionate speech about the importance of molecular biology studies in ALS research, most of which went over his head. Later, he’d searched her from the crowd and thanked her and they’d ended up for drinks—Phil had chosen ginger beer—and then bed.

He had thought it had been just for fun, a way for two adults to enjoy each other’s company, but one date had led to another, to a second toothbrush in the bathroom, to a shared flu, and a weekend at her parents. After seven months, he’d finally manned up and asked her what she wanted.

”I want you,” she’d said. ”You are a good man, Phil, and I love you. I want to raise a family with you. I know there are pieces of you missing, hidden somewhere I can’t reach, but I want all you can give me.”

They’d been married two years later and when she’d given birth to Chloe, Phil had been the happiest he’d ever been.

Of course, it wasn’t perfect. Perfect relationships didn’t exist. Sometimes Rosalind would get prickly because she was triggered by something that reminded her of her ex, and sometimes Phil would freeze when he saw a poster of a traveling circus. But they respected and loved each other and they talked it over. Rosalind took a deep breath and pushed away the ghosts of her past and Phil… he gave the circus poster a sad smile and turned his head away.

It wasn’t a perfect marriage, but it was a happy one.

And then came that one Tuesday evening.

When the doorbell rang, Phil had been debating whether to make sushi or pizza from scratch.

”Dad?” Chloe had called from the door. Something in her voice alerted him and he’d hurried to the door, only to see two somber police officers.

A drunk driver had crashed into Rosalind’s car at 70 miles per hour.

_We’re so sorry for your loss,_ they’d said.

_It had been quick,_ they’d said.

_She hadn’t suffered,_ they’d said.

_I’m sorry, sir, you need to come over to identify her,_ they’d said.

Phil had held hysterically crying Chloe, numbly thinking _Not again, please. Not again._

The universe, as it turned out, had a cruel streak.

Twice Phil had loved, given himself over, and been loved in return. Twice it had been taken away from him, leaving behind an empty husk and bitterness, and no way to turn back and demand an explanation.

Up until the funeral, things had been…not easy, but clear. Phil—and to some degree, Chloe as well—had managed to keep busy but when everything was set and done, the emptiness stepped in. It hadn’t even occurred to Phil how big and quiet their home was now that Rosalind wasn’t there. She’d been loud both in voice and personality and they felt her absence in the echoing rooms and silent meals. They had tried to fill the emptiness with movies and hobbies but everything had felt wrong.

”Should we just move somewhere else?” Chloe had asked one day while pushing her pasta around her plate.

”Do you want to?” Phil had asked back, feeling at a loss.

Chloe had shrugged.

Conveniently a couple of days later, Nick had called in and asked how they were doing. ”If you’re interested in downshifting, I think I have something you might like,” he’d said. Nick had launched a speech about Dorrian, about ’the motherfucking circle of life,’ about small towns and special people who welcomed strangers. Somehow, Phil had been roped into accepting a call from mayor May, and before he’d had the time to process what was happening, he and Chloe were on their way to Dorrian.

Phil heaved a deep breath and emptied the last dregs of his now cold chocolate and grimaced at the taste. Life took strange turns to take you to places, he mused as he stared into his empty mug.

He wondered how much of it Nick had orchestrated. Had he been waiting around just holding off until Rosalind had passed away? Would he have offered this while she’d been alive?

Heaving a sigh, Phil stood up and reached out his left hand to pick up his mug to wash it, and his ring clinked against the porcelain. He stopped and frowned, carefully placing the mug back on the table, and raised his hand and slowly rolled the ring around his finger.

Then he took a hold of it and slipped it off.

His finger felt naked and cold without the ring, somehow too light, unanchored. He placed the ring on the table and gripped the edge of the table with his hands as he stared at it.

_Is this okay?_ he silently asked. _Can I do this? Will you hate me if I don’t put it back on?_

He swallowed and averted his eyes as he picked up the mug again and turned towards the sink. As he washed it, he was somehow ridiculously aware of the simple gold band lying on the table right next to a bowl of tangerines. He still wasn’t sure of what to do about it; whether he should put it back on or leave it there so he left it where it was.

He would think about it tomorrow.

 

* * *

 

In a way, he was in no way surprised to find himself in front of the town hall at 9 a.m. next morning holding a peppermint green tea in one hand and an americano in the other. He’d had a wistful night’s sleep and the only thing that made it better had been Jemma’s text firmly informing him that he wasn’t allowed to come to work today. So, he hadn’t exactly been thinking as he’d gone about his morning routines.

Which had led him here, in front of the town hall.

Oh well. An appointment with the mayor then.

”Hello, Phil,” Ben, Melinda’s secretary said and gave him a look over the rim of his glasses as he walked in. ”Is that for me?” he asked, pointing at the coffee.

”It actually was for me but I guess it’s yours now,” Phil said with a smile and wink.

”Oh, please,” Ben said, rolling his eyes. ”You suck at flirting, doc. Leave it to the professionals, please.”

”Never hurts to try, does it?” Phil said, handing Ben the coffee. ”Is she in?”

He inclined his head. ”Already waiting for you,” he said with a small smile and took a hungry gulp of his drink.

Phil huffed. Of course Melinda knew he was coming over; she had the unnerving ability to sense such things. That, or her assistant just loved to fuck with him. If he was honest, it could be either one.

He knocked on the door and waited for her permission before entering.

”Morning, Melinda,” he said as he closed the door behind himself. ”How are you?”

She gave him an assessing look and shook her head. ”Steve and Peggy told me you might come over,” she said bluntly. ”So. What do you want to know?”

”Lots of things,” Phil said as he walked to her table and handed her the tea before sitting down on the plush chair she had by the table. ”Does everyone here have PTSD? Does this town really exist or is this just one of Nick’s mad contingency plans? Do you know a woman named Nat? Why am I here?” He shrugged. ”That’s just for starters.”

Melinda gave him a cool look and took a sip of her tea, letting out an appreciative hum at the taste. ”Almost, yes to both, yes,” she answered. ”And for the last… well. Do you want the shorter or the longer version?”

”Why don’t you start with the short and we’ll work our way up from there.”

Melinda nodded. ”Alright. The short version is that you’re here because Nick told me to invite you in.”

”I already knew that,” Phil said dryly. ”Try the longer version.”

Melinda gave him a long look. Then she took off her reading glasses, stood up, and slowly walked to stare out of the window.”I presume Steve and Peggy told you the doctor Lee story?” she asked from over her shoulder. ”That’s the public press version of how Dorrian slowly came back to life. The truth is a bit more…complicated.

”Don’t think I didn’t notice how you reacted the first time I called Nick Marcus,” she said. ”You and he go back a long way and it’s more than evident that you know who—or, more precisely, _what_ —Marcus Johnson is. However, the information about Dorrian is strictly need-to-know basis and when he told me to call you, he said you didn’t need to know. Not yet.”

Phil raised a brow.

Melinda rolled her eyes. ”Oh please. You should know it’s not about him trusting you. It’s about him trusting everyone else.”

”Well,” Phil muttered. ”He’s always been a paranoid bastard.”

She let out an undignified snort. ”True. It’s also what has kept him and a lot of other people alive throughout the years.” She didn’t have to say she was one of them, Phil understood it loud and clear. After a moment, she sighed and turned around, leaning her back against the wall. ”Even with the information you have now, this place is special. Having a safe haven for traumatized people to knit themselves back together and learn how to live again is something to be proud of. That’s what this town is, first and foremost.”

”But it’s not all,” Phil stated.

Melinda inclined her head. ”No, that’s not all.” She looked him straight in the eye. ”Did Marcus ever tell you about Project Pegasus?”

Slowly, Phil leaned back in his chair.

Jesus fucking Christ.

Project Pegasus had been Nick’s brainchild for over a decade. He’d been driven and passionate about it; an initiative that would gather up and rehab different, gifted individuals all around the world, offer them a safe home base where to lead a normal everyday life while still maintaining their skill sets. And by gifted, he’d meant highly trained operatives.

Project Pegasus was meant to be both a rehab program and a compact strike force.

Nick had never specified why he felt the need for such a group and back in the day, Phil hadn’t seen it necessary to ask. He wished he’d done it anyway.

”That’s a name I haven’t heard in a long, long time,” he said slowly.

Melinda gave him a wry smile but there was no humor in her eyes. ”Welcome to Project Pegasus, Phil.”


	8. Six

Of course, Phil should’ve seen it coming.

He knew Nick, he should’ve expected something insane like Dorrian; a remote small town that was just a front for his friend’s megalomaniac dreams. Rehabilitating war veterans was always a risk and it took a toll on both the individuals themselves and the people around them. Rehabilitating former special agents—let alone defect foreign agents—suffering from PTSD was bordering insanity.

It probably said a lot about Phil that he really didn’t have in in him to be surprised.

”Oh, for fuck’s sake,” he muttered under his breath and rubbed a hand over his face.

”For the record, I wanted to tell you,” Melinda said, watching him with inscrutable eyes. ”He told me to wait.”

Phil shook his head. ”No, it’s okay. I know him and he has a way to make things go the way he wants.”

Did this change anything? Phil didn’t think so. He was already fond of his new hometown and, more importantly, Chloe was on her way being fully settled in. That meant more to Phil than his possible personal discomfort. A parent was ready to do a lot for their kids, and Phil was desperate to offer Chloe a chance for a normal teenage life.

Nevertheless, it didn’t change the fact that Phil needed to talk to Nick. He felt he had some yelling to do.

The good thing about Melinda was that Phil didn’t have to come up with excuses for his abrupt departure.

”Let me know if you need anything,” she said. ”I’m not going to offer you a drink but I occasionally enjoy beating the hell out of a punching bag.”

”Thanks,” Phil said. ”I might take you up to the offer.”

Melinda raised a brow. ”You should. You’re out of shape.” Her tone was flat but Phil saw the small quirk of her lips that soothed the bluntness of her words.

 

* * *

 

Getting a hold of Nick wasn’t hard when you knew the drill but it took some time. He wasn’t just a former CIA agent and a Cold War veteran, but also a paranoid bastard who went ridiculous ways to hide his whereabouts and protect his privacy. Phil called his last know burner, listened through the voice message, and used the proper code breaker to decipher his current email, and sent him a note that simply said, _’Cheese is getting old, better refresh.’_

In the past, Phil had rolled his eyes at the procedure but if Project Pegasus was truly live, Phil understood why.

The call came three days later.

Phil was in between appointments, already running late which made him irritable. He wouldn’t have picked up if he hadn’t seen the ’Unknown caller’ ID flashing on the screen.

_”Hello, Cheese,”_ Nick drawled over the staticky line. _”How is the mountain climate treating you?”_

”You asshole,” Phil said conversationally as he walked to his door and asked Jemma to inform his next patient that he’d be late due to a family emergency. He closed the door after him and asked, ”When did you plan to tell me?”

_”I didn’t. I thought that you’d either figure it out by yourself and call me or you wouldn’t, in which case I’d be fucking disappointed.”_

”Really,” Phil said flatly. ”So you decided to move me and my daughter in the middle of nowhere and drop us into a town populated by trigger-happy veterans suffering from PTSD?”

_”Don’t be a moron,”_ Nick snorted. _”You like danger even though you claim to be a settled down family man. You were wasting away in New York and for what? A semblance of the middle-class life you thought you wanted?”_

Phil gritted his teeth. ”It’s not about me, and you know it!”

_”Don’t you use Chloe as a scapegoat, Cheese,”_ Nick snapped. _”She’s a kid yes, but she’s a smart kid. She knows her stuff and more importantly, she knows you.”_

”What’s that supposed to mean?”

_”It means exactly what I said: she’s your and Rosalind’s daughter, for fuck’s sake! She’s smart as a whip, stubborn like a bulldog, and twice as annoying as you ever were. She’s going to be fine if you just let her.”_

Phil deflated. Nick was right but that didn’t mean he wanted him handing out parenting advice. ”That choice wasn’t yours to make,” he said stiffly.

Nick let out a frustrated huff. _”Yeah, well. I recognized you’d made your decision to stay in New York but given it was a stupid-ass decision, I elected to ignore it. Admit it, you’re happier now than you were back there.”_

”Did you make it happen?” Phil asked after a pause. ”The crash?”

Nick let out a sound that was like grinding on glass. _”I’m going to let that slide because I know you,”_ he said, his voice slow and dangerous. _”I might be a controlling motherfucking pusher, but I wouldn’t do that. Not to you. Not after Kandahar.”_

Phil blew out a breath he hadn’t realized he’d been holding in. ”I believe you,” he said quietly. Kandahar had been where Nick had lost his eye and he would’ve lost a lot more if Phil hadn’t stepped on the line. Literally. He closed his eyes for a moment and then sighed. ”She found the letters,” he finally said and leaned against the wall.

_”Shit,”_ Nick said under his breath. _”Did she read them?”_

Phil let out a humorless chuckle. ”What do you think? She’s my daughter, of course she read them. Or, at least a couple of first letters.”

Nick hummed out a non-committal sound before asking, quietly, _”Not the last one?”_

Phil shook his head and then realized Nick couldn’t see it. ”No. Thank god.” He rubbed a hand over his face and through his hair, trying to gather up his courage. His office was quiet, the only sound the soft _tick-tock_ of Dr. Lee’s old wall clock and Jemma’s voice from behind his door. ”Did you send Clint here?” he finally asked.

_”Yes.”_

”Why?”

Nick was silent for a moment and then he said, _”I kept tabs on him after he dumped you. Something about the whole thing didn’t seem right, plus I saw what he did to you. So sue me if I wanted to see what he was up to.”_

Phil swallowed. ”Did you know?” he asked, dreading the answer.

After what seemed like forever, Nick sighed and said, _”Yes.”_

”God… _damn!”_ Phil swore and threw the phone on the table. It bounced and slid over the edge, ending on the floor. Phil stared at it for a while with unseeing eyes, his hands clenching and unclenching by his side until he turned and punched the wall as hard as he could. A flash of pain shot through his knuckles up to his forearm, leaving the whole limb numb and throbbing.

Behind him, the door opened. ”Something wrong, boss?” Jemma’s hesitant voice asked.

”I’m fine,” Phil said tightly, scowling at the wall. The drywall was cracked and had a sizeable hole in it, adorned with splatters of blood from the split skin on his first and second knuckle. He pinched his lips together in a tight line and turned around.

Jemma’s eyes flickered around the room before landing on the phone and jumping back to him. ”You sure?” she asked.

”I said I’m fine!” Phil snapped. He regretted it immediately when Jemma flinched like she’d been struck. _Shit,_ he thought. _Way to go, Phil, taking out your bad mood on your employees._ ”My apologies,” he said quietly. ”That was inappropriate. I’m sorry that I scared you.”

Jemma blinked a couple of times and then gave him a tentative smile. ”Would you like some tea?” she asked. She sounded her cheery self but Phil saw the fear in her eyes. It left a cold, slimy feeling in his gut.

Feeling suddenly exhausted, Phil took a deep breath. ”That would be lovely. Thank you, Jemma.”

Her smile turned slightly more genuine and her shoulders drooped with relief. ”Well, alright. One tea, coming right up!”

As she hurried to prepare his tea, Phil braced himself and walked to pick the phone up. He was surprised to see that not only was the screen intact but the line was still open.

_”Done with your temper tantrum?”_ Nick asked.

”You of all people should know how much I dislike being played,” Phil said.

_”For what it’s worth, I’m sorry,”_ Nick said, sounding actually apologetic. _”I made my decision based on facts at hand. Facts that aren’t all known to you.”_

”Yes, I know,” Phil answered tersely. ”I’m not privy to your plans, never have been. Funny how it didn’t matter nearly as much when I wasn’t a pawn in your game.”

_”What is done is done,”_ Nick said. _”What are you going to do about it?”_

”I have no goddamn clue,” Phil said. ”He knows I live here. Nat knows I’m here.” He paused. ”Speaking of her, she’s one of yours too, isn’t she?”

_”She doesn’t belong to anyone but herself. But, yes.”_

Phil rolled his eyes at the poetic delivery but didn’t comment.

The silence stretched as Jemma returned with a cup of fragrant Darjeeling. Phil waited until she was out of the room before asking, ”What the hell were you up to with him anyway?” Phil asked.

_”That’s not my tale to tell,”_ Nick slowly answered. _”But I can say that without my interference, your boy would be long dead.”_

”He’s not my anything,” Phil said automatically.

Nick snorted. _”You can try to fool yourself but don’t try to bullshit me. You’ve never stopped loving him, no matter how happy your marriage to Rosalind was. He’s been your first, your last, and your everything.”_

Phil closed his eyes. ”Did you seriously just quote Barry White to me?” he asked flatly.

Nick let out an undignified chortle. _”Talk to him,”_ he said after a moment. _”It’s your only way to know for sure.”_

Phil sighed. ”Yeah. I guess I have to.”

_”And Cheese? You can trust everyone in Dorrian, including Stark, as crazy as it sounds.”_

”How do you know him anyway?”

_”You don’t want to know,”_ Nick said. _”You really don’t want to know.”_

 

* * *

 

Jemma canceled and rescheduled his final four patients for the day so after cleaning his knuckles, Phil ended up sitting at his desk and sipping his tepid tea while he thought. 

Contacting Clint was easier said than done. First, Phil had no idea where he was staying or if he even was in Dorrian anymore. Second, he wasn’t sure if Clint would be willing to be contacted. Then again, his reaction at the store had been strong enough to make Phil reluctant to track him down because the last thing Phil wanted was to scare him.

At first, he thought the easiest way would be through Melinda. She was the highest-ranking operative in Dorrian and was bound to know where each player was. But asking her to act as the liaison wouldn’t be easy because Melinda wasn’t just scary, but she was also extremely protective of her people. For now, Phil wasn’t sure if he counted as _her people_ or not. On top of that, Phil feared she’d come through too strong. He only wanted to send a message, not to force anyone’s hand.

Perhaps he should just go straight to Steve and Peggy? They were easy to talk to and Phil had a feeling they wouldn’t turn him down.

That decided, he downed the last dregs of his tea and took his now empty cup into their small office kitchenette. On his way out, he stopped by Jemma’s working space and gave her a rueful smile.

”Thank you, Jemma,” he said. ”And I’m truly sorry about my behavior earlier.” He raised his hand when she opened her mouth to interrupt him. ”No, let me speak.”

Jemma bit her lip and blinked a couple of times at her hands on her lap before she raised her head to look at Phil and nodded.

”I…I know that I’m a good doctor,” Phil started. ”I like my work and I like my patients, but I couldn’t do this without you and Fitz. You are important to me not only as my colleagues—”

”Actually, neither of us have medical degrees—” Jemma piped in.

”That’s not what—wait, I thought you were a nurse?”

Jemma gave him a smile that was more like a grimace. ”Well, I have two PhDs in fields you can’t pronounce, but… ah, never mind. You were saying?”

Phil opened his mouth but decided against it. He could ask Jemma about her real degrees some other time. ”I only meant to say that despite the news I got, taking it out on you wasn’t right.” He didn’t point out her reaction to his outburst.

Something in her relaxed. ”It’s… well, if we’re being honest, it’s not okay. But it will be. I don’t like angry men that much.”

”I understand,” Phil said. ”And if I ever make you uncomfortable again, tell me. Please.”

”Of course!” she said and gave him a bright smile that was just slightly too wide to be completely genuine.

Phil made a mental note to get back to it later. Someone had hurt her, and Phil wanted to make sure he never made Jemma look scared again.

 

* * *

 

Steve and Peggy’s B&B wasn’t far from Phil’s practice and he decided to take advantage of the lovely day and walk instead of driving. The crisp, clear air accented the gorgeous view of the mountains in the distance and, combined with the beautiful buildings lining the street in neat rows and smiling people, it made the whole scene look like a postcard or a travel ad.

He wondered how many secrets the town had and if he’d ever learn them all. Considering Dorrian was basically Nick’s home base, the answer was most likely a solid ’no.’

Howling Commandos was a large Swiss style house with a stone basement and ornate wood cuttings decorating the balconies and the roof. It should’ve looked out of place in the American midwest, but it fit the scenery perfectly. It was homey and inviting, and when Phil stepped in, the feeling only grew stronger.

”Phil!” Peggy exclaimed and hurried around the reception counter to give him a hug. ”How lovely to see you! How can we help? I don’t suppose you’re in a need of a bed, even though a proper breakfast every now and then probably wouldn’t hurt.”

Phil grinned. ”Well, I wouldn’t say no to a healthy helping of bacon but I do think my daughter would oppose. Apparently, eating pork isn’t ’cool’.”

”Nevertheless, it tastes good,” Steve said as he walked up to clasp Phil on the shoulder. ”But I got a feeling this isn’t just a social call.”

”You’re right,” Phil said with a tight smile. ”I need to send a message to Clint.”

Steve and Peggy exchanged a look, then Steve nodded and said, ”Follow me.”

 

* * *

 

The worst thing about waiting for the answer, Phil later decided, was the waiting. 

After a short conversation, Steve had agreed to contact Clint and then he’d gently but firmly sent Phil home. ”I’m not going to let you stay here and wait,” he’d said. ”I’ll let you know when he answers.”

So, home Phil went, but only after stopping to get groceries.

He’d long since accepted his fate as a stress-cooker. The more anxious he was, the more he cooked. Or baked. Extreme frustration resulted in excellent bread rolls: nothing made the dough quite as good as a good pounding. Now, however, he didn’t even dream about bread rolls. The punch he’d landed on his office wall hadn’t fractured anything but his hand still stung enough that he decided to leave bread rolls for another day.

Instead, he decided to make some pasta.

Making pasta from scratch was time-consuming and repetitive, but it was exactly what Phil needed now. Preparing the dough helped him to center himself and he loved the feel of the dough taking shape and change consistency under his hands. Even though he wasn’t exactly hunting to provide for his family, it was deeply satisfying on some primary level he didn’t care to examine closer right now.

Besides, Chloe loved home-made pasta. It was a win-win situation.

While the dough settled, he prepared the filling: just simple chicken with ricotta, lemon, and thyme. Light and easy but something Phil had a feeling Jasper would like. He made a mental note to put a couple of ravioli to the side to take him later. They had bonded over good food early on, and Melinda had soon learned to roll her eyes, pour herself a glass of wine, and leave them to discuss the differences between arborio and jasmine rice.

He lost himself in the moves of rolling the dough into thin sheets, placing dabs of the filling at even spaces on them, and carefully covering them with other sheets. He then made sure the dough was snugly sealed around the stuffing and cut the ravioli into rectangles.

It grew dark outside without him realizing and it wasn’t until the door slammed shut and Chloe exclaimed ”Ohh, smells awesome!” that he realized how much time had passed. As he straightened himself, his back popped and he winced. Spending time bent slightly over like that wasn’t perhaps the smartest thing for him to do.

When Chloe entered the kitchen, she took one look at the table, turned to face Phil, and raised her brows. ”Okay, what happened?”

Phil gave her a mild smile. ”Why do you think something happened?”

She cast her eyes heavenwards and said, ”Dad, honestly? Why do you think I wouldn’t notice? The only time you make ravioli is when you’re upset. So. What happened?”

Phil shook his head, amused. He really should’ve learned to expect the unexpected from Chloe by now. ”I learned some truths about a lot of things a couple of days ago and now I’m waiting for… well, let’s say I’m waiting to hear from someone.”

Chloe looked at him for a moment and then asked, ”It’s Clint, isn’t it?”

Phil stopped wiping the counter. ”How do you do that?” he asked, turning around.

She shrugged. ”You have tells,” she said. ”Remember when you taught me to watch people when I was younger? Well, I’ve been watching you. And you have tells when you’re nervous.”

Phil shook his head and returned to his cleaning. ”Wash your hands and prepare the salad, Sherlock,” he said.

He could practically hear her rolling her eyes, but she started rummaging the fridge for cucumber, cherry tomatoes, and lettuce. ”You clean, cook, or bake,” she said after a short moment. ”And you have certain look in your eyes. And you fidget.”

”Really?”

”Also, you’re my dad. I kinda know when you’re trying to hide things from me,” Chloe said quietly. ”You were better when mom was still alive but after she died…” She gave him a stilted smile. ”You’re not as good as you think.”

”Huh,” Phil said as he took off his apron. ”You’re good. And I obviously need to practice more.”

They ate in silence, each giving the other the time and space with their own thoughts. Chloe was through her fourth ravioli when she asked again, ”It’s Clint, isn’t it?”

Phil sighed and rested his utensils on the edge of his plate. ”Yes,” he finally said. ”I asked him to meet me.”

”Oh?” Chloe said, visibly perking up.

Phil gave her a flat look. ”Nothing like that, mind you.”

”But it could be!”

He shook his head. ”I don’t think so. Badger, he’s damaged.”

She didn’t react to his use of her nickname. ”Aren’t we all?” she asked instead and poked at a morsel of chicken on her plate.

The call came later that night.

_”Sorry to call you so late,”_ Steve apologized. _”He agreed to see you.”_

Phil let out a relieved breath. ”Okay, that’s…that’s good.” He sat heavily down and leaned his elbows on his knees.

_”Phil, he’s in a bad shape,”_ Steve continued, softly. _”He wants to meet early in the morning because apparently, he doesn’t sleep at night. And he wants to meet in here.”_

”Okay,” Phil repeated. ”It’s okay. Just tell me what to do.”

 

* * *

 

Having clinical knowledge about PTSD and suffering from a relatively mild case himself didn’t make it any easier to walk through the door of Steve and Peggy’s place at 6:50 am the next morning.

”Hi, Phil,” Peggy said when he walked in and gave him a concerned smile. ”Did you get any sleep last night?”

Phil swallowed around a dry throat. ”No, not really.”

”Would you like some tea?”

Phil shook his head.

Peggy sighed and nodded. ”Alright. Come with me.”

Phil followed her into a room on the far left side of the first floor. It was a small, cozy study probably meant for meetings or card games with a table and two chairs set sideways to the door. Neither chair had its back to the door. The windows were framed with warm copper colored curtains and through the partially closed shades, he saw a lush garden filled with apple trees.

”Phil?” Peggy said in a voice that indicated she’d said his name a couple of times already. ”Are you alright?”

”Yeah, yeah,” he said and offered her a quick smile.

She clasped his shoulder shortly. ”He’ll be in in a minute,” she said before she left, leaving the door slightly ajar.

Phil took a couple of deep, calming breaths before he walked around the small room and finally settled on the chair with its back to the windows.

After what felt like ages, the door slowly opened and Clint walked in, his head lowered so that Phil didn’t see his eyes. He closed the door behind him, seemed to take a couple of breaths, and then he turned around and walked to sit on the chair, his hands on his lap.

When he lifted his head, he didn’t look Phil in the eye. Instead, his eyes flickered around the room, took in the corners and walls in a frantic yet familiar pattern Phil recognized from too many traumatized patients.

And when Clint finally looked him in the eye, Phil felt like punched, meeting the same intense gaze he’d missed for the past two decades.

”Hi Phil,” Clint said.


	9. Seven

Phil swallowed. He almost started to reach out to touch Clint’s hand but he caught himself in time, guessing that a move like that could make Clint bolt. Instead, he leaned forward a fraction and said, ”Hi Clint.” His voice was hoarse and he felt light-headed like the room didn’t hold enough air.

Clint didn’t say anything. He looked Phil with hooded eyes, not quite holding the eye contact. Phil wasn’t sure what he saw. A middle-aged man with thinning hair, sharp nose, and too many lines in his face?

”I’m sorry,” he blurted out.

Clint blinked. ”For what?”

”For everything. For the way we parted. For not staying in contact. For…what happened to you.”

Clint turned his head away. ”It wasn’t your fault,” he said.

”I know. I just wish I—” He stopped, closed his eyes and shook his head.

”Maybe this was a mistake,” Clint said and stood up, pushing his chair back. The chair’s legs scraped at the floor and the sound made Phil’s ears hurt.

”No, wait!” Phil said, jumping up. ”I’m sorry, I—” He heaved a deep breath and ran his hand through his hair. Clint’s eyes followed the movement like a hawk. ”Could you please sit down?” Phil asked. He stayed standing as Clint sat gingerly back down, eyeing him. ”Is it alright if I pace?” he asked. ”I can walk by this wall if it’s easier for you.”

Clint’s eyes took in the room again and after a moment, he nodded.

”Thank you,” Phil said.

The silence stretched between them, awkward and gaping, and made Phil conscious of every sound he heard—or thought he heard—from behind the door.

”I don’t know what to do,” he quietly admitted.

Clint cocked his head. ”What makes you think you should do something?”

”No, I mean I…” he leaned against the wall and let his head drop back. ”As a doctor and a vet, I know what PTSD is. I’ve dealt with it myself. But it’s different when it’s not a patient but someone I—” he stopped and snapped his mouth shut. _’Someone I love,’_ he’d almost said. He swallowed. ”Hence, I don’t know what to do.”

”You’re a doctor? You graduated?” Clint asked.

”Yeah. For a while, I entertained the idea of becoming a pediatrician but dropped it after Chloe was born. I ended up as a GP instead and considering I’m here now, it seems to have been the right choice. Nick pushed me to finish my degree after… well. After.” He stumbled with the words, ending the sentence in awkward hand gesture that could’ve meant anything.

Clint smiled and dropped his gaze on his hands. ”He has a way of pushing people,” he said.”Nat once said—” He caught himself mid-sentence and winced.

Phil huffed and shook his head. ”Look at us. Two grown men unable to hold a conversation,” he said dryly.

Clint glanced at him from under his brow and his lips twitched.

”Can we start over?” Phil asked quietly. ”Hi Clint, I’m Phil. Nice to finally meet you.”

Clint looked at him for a long while before something in him relaxed. ”Hi Phil,” he said, his voice rough. ”Likewise.”

 

* * *

 

They talked for about two hours and after, Phil was completely exhausted. He felt groggy and disoriented, like he was trying to make his way through molasses. He was glad he’d had the foresight to take the rest of the day off. He was in no shape to treat anyone right now, not even old Mrs. Groundstroem who mostly talked about her aching toes and smiled beatifically when Phil took her blood pressure.

It was another crisp, sunny day, and he decided to take a walk. Perhaps a hike in the woods would help him clear his mind and help him get rid of his pent-up anxiety. His shoes, as sensible as they were, weren’t exactly meant for trekking but he’d deal with the possible blisters later. Right now, he wanted to just…go where his feet took him and mull over the past couple of hours in peace.

After his initial nervousness had started to slowly dissipate, Clint had started asking questions, everything from Phil’s oddest patients _(”Well, I guess a full moon isn’t real without a werewolf Jesus, right?”)_ to whether he still loved tinned mushrooms _(”Eww, still nasty!”)_ to if he’d taught his daughter to shoot a gun. He’d listened with rapt attention to everything and anything Phil had said, curious about the mundane things like how it had felt to carry his daughter in piggyback or the way Phil loved the feeling of freshly pressed sheets.

Phil had always had a hard time regulating himself when they were alone. With other people around, he was more closed-off but Clint had always been able to draw out anything he wanted, and that skill hadn’t vanished. In two hours, Phil had told him about his alcoholism, the way Nick had saved him (”He smacked me around the ears until I saw reason.”), how he finally graduated and got his first job at a hospital; meeting Rosalind and becoming a father and then losing her and moving to Dorrian.

”And now I’m here, building up a new life for me and my daughter,” he’d finished.

”That sounds good, Phil,” Clint had said with a small smile that had reached his eyes and had left Phil breathless.

Clint had dropped his gaze on his lap and he’d chewed his lip, a nervous tick Phil remembered from before.”I think I gotta go,” he’d said, standing up abruptly.

”Oh,” Phil had said. ”Well, would you like to meet again?” he’d asked hopefully. ”Of course, only if you feel comfortable with—”

”I’m not sure—”

”—I don’t want to pressure—”

”—I mean, maybe—”

”Clint,” Phil had said, louder. Too loud, he’d realized when Clint had flinched. ”I’m glad you wanted to meet me,” he’d said, softer now. ”Take your time. Think about it. I’m not going anywhere.”

Clint had shuffled his legs nervously for a moment before he’d nodded, turned sharply on his heel, and walked out.

Phil stopped in his tracks, closed his eyes, and just stood there, breathing deeply in and out, going through a simple breathing exercise he tended to fall back to when he was feeling overwhelmed. Then he opened his eyes and took a look around. He was on a popular hiking trail, midway to the cliff overlooking Dorrian. Feeling slightly better, he continued forward on the trail until he reached a small clearing with wooden benches bathing in the late morning sun. He sat down on a sunny spot and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees.

Dorrian looked beautiful nestled in the valley and surrounded by woods in a bright autumn foliage. It looked like the safe haven it was.

He dropped his gaze to his hands and his eyes were drawn to the pale skin his ring had left behind. He hadn’t put it back on this morning, leaving it on the kitchen table instead.

Phil huffed and rubbed his ring finger, a familiar move that now felt odd without the solid metal under his fingertips.

Seeing Clint again had been everything he’d hoped for but it…wasn’t enough. He wanted to see him again, to talk to him, to learn what had happened to him. He wanted to listen to him talk, to sing like he’d used to way back before.

Seeing Clint again had been dangerous because regardless of knowing better, now Phil _hoped,_ and how insane was that? He was recently widowed and in no condition to jump into anything.

Besides, what made him think Clint would even want anything to do with him? He was closer to fifty than forty, had a daughter and a practice to care for. He had already been through a grueling break-up, he’d been married and then widowed. He wasn’t sure there was much left to give.

He heaved a deep sigh and rubbed a hand over his face.

He’d been open about his own life but he still knew little to nothing about Clint who had directed the conversation and deftly sidestepped every question Phil managed to ask. He knew that Clint had left the circus, that he’d been on his own, and…well, everything else that stood in the letter. But what else had happened, who was Nat, why Clint was in Dorrian, what did he want from Phil…

Phil had no idea.

He didn’t know where to go from here. He was quite sure he knew what he wanted—even though a small voice in the back of his head scoffed and said it was a fool’s hope—but he wasn’t the one who needed make the decision.

Closing his eyes, he leaned back against on the sun-warmed bench and tipped his head back, deciding to rest for a moment before heading back to his car.

He must’ve dozed off because when he startled awake some time later, it was to the distinct feeling of being watched. Slowly, keeping his posture relaxed, he opened his eyes just a sliver and took a peek around. He saw no-one. That itself meant nothing—if someone was watching him they could just as well do that from the cover of the trees. Deciding that pretending to sleep was far from useful, he sat up and looked straight at the direction he’d determined his mysterious watcher was.

Almost as soon as he moved, something rustled and then and then— Phil snorted. It was a yellow Labrador retriever, ambling from the cover of the trees and making its way to Phil. Its gait was labored and limping and when it got closer, Phil noticed it was missing his left eye and his left forepaw was badly mangled. Something (or someone) had done a number on this dog.

”Hi there,” he said quietly and extended his hand to let the dog sniff it.

He—and it was a he—picked up the pace and hurried to Phil, wagging his tail so hard Phil thought he would actually fall over. He butted Phil on his hand and squirmed under it, silently ordering him to start petting.

”You’re a demanding one, aren’t you?” Phil asked and scratched the dog from behind one ear. It resulted to him sitting heavily down, leaning his full weight on Phil’s leg, and starting to thump his back leg in tune with the scratching.

A short moment later, the dog’s ears perked up as he heard something and then he barked twice, sharp, precise sounds, before turning his eye back to Phil. Not long after, he heard rustling again but this time the shape emerging from the shadow of the trees wasn’t one of a dog.

It was Dr. Banner, the veterinary.

”There you are—oh, hello Dr. Coulson!” he greeted, slightly out of breath. ”I didn’t know you were out and about. I hope Lucky hasn’t been bothering you too much.”

Phil shook his head. ”Nah, he’s been a good boy, haven’t you?” Lucky waggled his tail so hard he almost dislodged himself. ”Right, such a good boy,” Phil said. ”Lucky, huh?” he asked Dr. Banner.

”I found him in a ditch by the main road a couple of months ago,” Dr. Banner said. ”Apparently, someone just threw him out of the car window. He got two broken legs, several broken ribs, cuts and bruises, and bad infections on his paw and eye. He’s lucky to be alive, hence the name.”

”That’s fitting,” Phil agreed, smiling as Lucky butted his hand for more scritches.

Dr. Banner fell silent for a good while and when Phil glanced at him, he looked thoughtful. ”You know, now that his injuries are treated I’ve been trying to find him a new home. Didn’t your daughter want a dog?”

Phil gave an internal groan and said, dryly. ”Yes. Her list of acceptable pets includes but is not limited to a cat, a tarantula, a fish tank, seven show rats, and a pony. She’s fifteen, she can learn that she doesn’t get everything she wants.”

Dr. Banner gave him an amused look. ”Just make sure you never let Tony hear you. He’d insist on buying your daughter a herd of tarantulas and the whole rat show.”

”Why would he do that?” Phil asked, genuinely curious.

”I have absolutely no idea,” Dr. Banner deadpanned. ”But seriously, Phil, I think you’d be a good match. Lucky is housebroken, very friendly despite what he’s been through, and he generally behaves himself well. Just don’t let any pizza around, he’ll eat it all.” He fell silent before adding, ”It wouldn’t be just for Chloe, you know?”

Surprised, Phil didn’t know what to say. Dr. Banner gave him an intense look, nodded, and walked away without another word while Phil was left sitting on the bench, petting a dog that seemed completely unbothered that the vet who had nursed him back to health had left him behind.

No, Lucky was too busy trying to melt under Phil’s hands.

Phil decided that perhaps they could try.

 

* * *

 

It took Lucky about eight and a half minutes to run around the house, check the bathrooms, jump on the couch, jump down when Phil ordered him to, run upstairs and back down, and finally settle by Phil’s feet which most likely had something to do with the fact that Phil opened the fridge.

”You’re going to be a handful, aren’t you?” Phil asked.

Lucky thumped his tail and grinned.

Phil shook his head and rummaged the fridge for leftovers for dinner. They still had some cold potato salad from the day before and he decided it would have to be enough. He didn’t really feel like cooking tonight.

When he heard the front door open and Lucky pounced, Phil realized he probably should’ve texted Chloe about him.

”Oh my GOD!” Chloe screamed. ”We have a dog! Dad, why do we have a dog?”

Leaning against the doorframe, Phil took in the scene. Chloe was kneeling on the floor, her lap full of a squirming Lucky who didn’t seem to know whether he should try to lick Chloe’s face or to burrow under her arm. Chloe was grinning wider than in weeks and Phil felt his heart ache. He’d been so preoccupied with his own thoughts, with Clint, that he’d left Chloe on her own. She was sometimes so mature for her age that Phil forgot she was only fifteen. She was still a child.

”Dad?” Chloe asked, slightly worried.

Phil blinked and gave her a sheepish grin. ”Sorry, I’m just tired. It’s been an…interesting day.”

She raised a brow. ”Good interesting or bad interesting?” she asked while trying to get up from under Lucky’s weight.

”I don’t know yet,” Phil said and inclined his head. ”Are you hungry? We have some potato salad left.”

”Yeah, sure,” Chloe said. ”Is there any Ben&Jerry’s left? If there is, I call dibs!” She darted past him, pausing only long enough to give him a short but strong hug that told Phil everything he needed to know.

Phil stood in the doorway for a short moment longer before he nodded and turned to follow her.

 

* * *

 

”I hear you have a dog,” Lance shouted over the music.

It was Friday night and the pub was packed. Perhaps it was simply the end of the week, or perhaps it had something to do with the pool tournament Lance had been advertising for weeks. The winner got a free evening and a keg of his finest which was rumored to be obscenely strong and sweet. Phil was man enough to admit that he was curious. But first—

”How the hell do you know that already?”

Lance grinned and handed him a pint. ”Small town, mate. News travel fast.”

Phil shook his head and sipped his beer, raising a brow at the taste. ”This is excellent!” he complimented.

Lance beamed. ”It is, right? I think I’ve finally perfected the hop and malt ratio. The trick is also to add just a pinch of muscovado at the late stage of brewing, that’s what’ll give it a nice, earthy and savory aroma.”

”What are you doing, boring up patrons again?” Bobbi snarked as she walked past, carrying a stack of glassware. ”I’m sorry, Phil, he’s incorrigible.”

”Silence, woman!” Lance bellowed. ”Do not belittle my beer making skills! Besides, you love me, so there’s that.”

”God help me, so I do,” she muttered fondly.

Phil ducked his head and took another sip to avoid watching Lance and Bobbi’s now-familiar dance of snark and syrupy love confessions. He turned around in his stool and took a look around the pub. During the past months, Dorrian had slowly become a home and Mockingjay had turned from a nice pub into a second living room.

”What do you think, should I go and _accidentally_ bump into one of them to speed things along?” Melinda said flatly from his side.

Phil glanced at her and followed the line of her sight to Mack who was bent over the pool table. Behind him, Fitz had apparently inhaled his drink and was now red-faced and coughing while Jemma hacked him on the back.

”That would either jumpstart the romance of the decade or make either or both of them drop dead from sheer mortification,” Phil grinned.

Melinda let out a non-committal sound and sipped her drink. From the look of it, it was vodka but Phil wasn’t sure. ”Talking about romance, how are things with Clint?” she asked. When Phil didn’t answer, she downed her drink at one go and turned to place the empty glass on the counter before facing Phil. ”The thing about living in a small town is that while you learn stuff about your neighbors, they learn some stuff too. This is a good place to live in, but due to Dorrian’s…speciality we need each resident to be honest. It’s the only way to run this place.”

”Like you’ve been honest with me?” Phil countered giving her a look from the corner of his eye.

”I wasn’t sure whether you want to stay or not. But now that you’ve got a dog and everything…” her voice trailed away.

Phil rolled his eyes. ”Why is everyone suddenly interested in the dog?” he asked.

Melinda’s lips twitched. ”Because when Bruce is ready to give you a dog, we know you’re here to stay.”

”Oh.”

Melinda was silent for a moment. ”He might be your past and/or future partner, but to us, he’s also an asset. If nothing else, I need to know if this is a dealbreaker.” Her voice was cool and Phil could read absolutely nothing from her expression.

”To me?” Phil asked and shook his head. ”No matter what happens between him and me, Dorrian is home. You don’t have to worry about that.”

Melinda nodded. ”Good.”

For some time, Phil stared into his glass and rubbed his thumb over a small bump at the base. ”I don’t know,” he finally said quietly. ”So much has happened to both of us.”

”You have time,” Melinda said.

”I guess.”

From the corner of his eye, Phil saw the door opening and to his shock, Nat stepped in. Despite her small frame, she demanded attention and the crowd parted before her when she started towards the bar. She nodded at Melinda, stepped in between her and Phil, and ordered a vodka in Russian. Bobbi grinned and handed her the drink almost immediately, and while they exchanged some pleasantries in Russian, the other patrons slowly picked up their interrupted conversations.

Phil tried to concentrate on the pool game (or, more precisely Fitz and Mack’s awkward flirting) but he was hyperaware of the red-haired woman beside him.

”Are you home tomorrow night?” Nat asked conversationally, startling Phil. ”And by you, I mean you and Chloe.”

”Yes. Why?” Phil asked, slightly wary.

She turned to look at him. ”Clint and I will stop by.” She downed her drink, bade Melinda good night in what to Phil sounded like perfect Mandarine, and walked out.

When the door closed behind her, Lance let out a long breath. ”That lady gives me the creeps,” he said. ”And I’m married to you, Bobbi.”

”You’re just pissed that you don’t understand our gossip,” Bobbi said.

”You’re not gossiping!” Lance exclaimed. ”You’re exchanging valuable information about world domination, right?”

Bobbi just shook her head, muttering under her breath in Russian.

”She’s not planning on eviscerating me, is she?” Lance asked Phil. ”You know Russian, don’t you?”

”I know Russian, yes,” Phil said. ”And no, she’s not planning on eviscerating you.”

”Oh, that’s good. So, what _were_ they talking about?”

Phil’s answer was interrupted by an eruption of catcalls and applause from the vicinity of the pool table. He turned around to see that Fitz had gripped Mack’s lapels and was kissing the hell out of him. For a moment, Mack seemed bewildered but then he promptly dropped his pool stick, took a hold of Fitz, spun around, and lifted him to sit on the edge of the pool table. If the way Fitz wrapped his legs around Mack, he had absolutely no protests.

”About damn time,” both Melinda and Lance said in unison.


	10. Interlude: Letters, part III

Dear Phil,

I know I hurt you and I know I dont have the right to ask anything from you. The only thing I ask is that you read this letter, not cuz it makes anything right but cuz it explains some stuff.

First off: my last letter was a lie. The one where I told you I didnt want you, that I didnt want to keep on going, that I didnt want to wait for you. That was a lie. ~~They made me~~ ~~I never shouldve sent~~

Sorry. I’ll start from the beginning.

I dont really know when things changed. Barney had always been volatile and easy to get angry (he got that from our dad) but he was okay back then when we arrived at Carsons. I mean, he was too proud, too loud, too self-centered to really see what was going on around us but I guess he kept us safe back then. Thats something I’m grateful, really. Cuz no matter what happened later, Barney is the reason I’m still here. In the good and the bad.

Anyway.

Someday, maybe a year after youd left, I started noticing that Duquesne and Barney spent time together. I mean, Duquesne had always been my trainer but somehow they ended up sitting up late. I didnt spend time with them (mostly cuz theyd get drunk and you know how I feel about that), but I also got a feeling they didnt want me there.

Then Barney started boasting how hed have a lot of money soon, so much we wouldnt have to worry about a thing ever again. He didnt like it when I asked what was going on (I might be stupid but I know a lot of money for someone like Barney meant dirty money), and my questions earned me a black eye and a dislocated shoulder that put me off my shoe for a too long time. (Remember when I wrote you that I hurt my shoulder at work? Well, it wasnt work, it was Barney.) But he didnt beat me up too bad that time. Sure, moving hurt like hell after, but it was nothing I hadnt been through before. He told me to keep my mouth shut and just do my thing, hed take care of everything else.

But I couldnt do it. Robbing Carson would also mean robbing Esmeralda and Kevin (remember Valeriu? Well, he wasnt from Romania, he was a former janitor from some small town in Kansas), and everyone else which wouldve been even bigger dick move. So I decided to stop him.

That didnt go too well. I shouldve known that Barney couldnt come up with a plan like that on his own so when I went to Duquesne… He broke my nose, my jaw, and my knees. He didnt touch my hands cuz he knew that would make me worthless and he still needed me for the shows. I was getting famous and he wanted the money.

I shouldve left. I shouldve done many things. But I stayed cuz where else would I go? Barney was all the family I got even after he and Duquesne beat me up so I stayed. They did their thing, robbed the circus, and got caught. I didnt want anything to do with it but Barney somehow managed to blame me and when Carson said hed called the police, Barney gave me two choices: run with him and Duquesne or go to jail.

He said he knew what would happen to fags in jail.

If it was just me, I couldve done it. I could take a beating and more but then they said theyd go after you. They said if I didnt come with them, theyd contact the army and out you. And I couldnt do it. I didnt want you to suffer from my mistakes so I did the only thing I could: I ended it.

I hoped you wouldnt come back but of course you did. Youd promised, right? You stood there in the bright winter sun and told me you loved me, that you didnt understand, and all I could see was Duquesne with his bow drawn, ready to kill you. I had to do that. I had to hurt you to keep you safe. I had to throw the vilest words to your face to turn you away cuz it was the only option. I didnt want to kill you.

After, I thought I’d die. I deserved it, right? Barney and Duquesne thought I was hilarious.

I dont like to think about what happened after. Lots and lots of bad stuff. Every time I tried to get away, they dangled your safety in front of me like a marionette, ready to make a call to hurt you. Now I know that was stupid and they lied but back then it felt so real.

And I was ready to do so much to keep you safe.

I trailed after them for years, you know? They had plans and they wanted me as a backup in case things went wrong. For a long time I didnt know what those things were and what they were doing but I didnt want to know. I guess I thought it would make me less guilty? But of course it didnt. I was the one who ~~released the bowstring and who pulled the trigger and who~~

There’s no point explaining.

I’ve hurt people, Phil. I’ve killed people and it makes me a monster.

Youre probably wondering why I didnt leave Barney and Duquesne later but I just couldnt. Maybe that makes me a coward. Or maybe that makes me even more a monster? I dunno.

~~Anyway~~

~~Things got real bad~~

~~At some point I stopped caring~~

~~I’m sorry Phil.~~

Nats making me write this cuz she says its good for me. I dont know why shes making me do this cuz you dont need to know this but shes literally sitting next to me watching me write.

At some point I realized I was basically a mercenary. A gun (or a bow) for hire. I hurt people for money and I didnt even have Barney or Duquesne to blame. I killed him, you know? Duquesne, not Barney, cuz I had no idea where Barney was. Hed fucked off at some point but I didnt really care. I didnt care about much back then.

And then I took a job and it went wrong. I dont want to think about it much because its the reason I cant sleep. Its the reason I’m afraid of the dark. Stupid, right? I’m a grown-ass man, I shouldnt be afraid of the dark. ~~Funny what spending months blindfolded and tortured can do to a man~~ (Nat says thats not funny)

They told me you were back and ready to set things right. That you were tired of me being a threat to your military career and that you wanted me silent for good. They used the words you wrote me and I believed it all. Now I know it was all Barney but back then it felt so real and I was sure I was done.

I wanted you to come, you know? I wanted you to kick the door down and end me cuz the things I said to you. I wanted you to finish me cuz that’s what I deserved.

And after some time, I started hearing you. I was sure youd come to kill me but you didnt do it and I couldnt understand why.

I was a monster and monsters dont deserve to live.

(Nat growls and says I’m not a monster. She keeps saying that even though I know shes wrong.)

Shes the one who got me out, you know? When she opened the cell door and released me and took off my blindfold, I thought she was an angel of death and that I was hallucinating cuz why would I be set free? I didnt deserve it. But she dragged me out anyway.The hallways were red with blood and littered with broken bodies but I didnt care cuz I had done it too, countless times.

But then I saw who had been behind it all. You guessed, it: Barney.

The one who had sold them the info where to find me (as Nat told me) had been my own brother. Hed told them who I was and what I was, and hed helped them to figure out the way to hurt me. He hated me so much that he wanted to make sure I’d lose my mind.

He used you.

And he succeeded.

I lost a lot of time after. The only reason I’m still here is Nat. I dont know why she did it but she did and she doesnt let me quit.

She also told me to make sure you understand this: I dont blame you for what happened. It wasnt your fault, it was Barney. Hes the one who chose to do this and the guys he sold me to chose to use me the way they did. So when we met at the store a while ago ~~I went back~~

I thought I was hallucinating again. I didnt think you were real, especially when I saw your ring. Nat hadnt been mentioning you exactly but shed been talking about me getting a life and finding someone, and I thought… I dunno, that my mind went where it always goes. To you.

But Nat says youre real and ~~Marcus~~ Nick said I’m a fucking idiot so I guess youre really here.

And I dont know what to do about it.

I’ve never felt like this about anyone but you.

I’m not asking you to forgive me cuz I know thats not meant for me. Forgiveness.

But I never wanted to hurt you, Phil. You gotta believe that.

—C


	11. Eight

Phil tried to be sensible and sleep in the next morning, but he couldn’t. The knowledge that Clint and Nat were coming over in the evening made him nervous and he felt too jittery to go back to sleep. Instead, he took Lucky out for a long walk, cleaned the house, and took out the trash. He was about to start scrubbing the bathrooms when Chloe walked in. Her hair was matted on the other side and tangled on the other, her sleeping pants were inside out and she had Rosalind’s old bunny slippers on. And she looked completely done.

”Dad, what the hell are you doing at… 7:13 am? Oh my God!” she exclaimed. ”What are you stressing about this time?”

Feeling utterly stupid on his knees on the bathroom floor, Phil said, ”Nothing.” When Chloe just crossed her arms over her chest and kept staring at him, he sighed and pushed himself up. His knees popped and flared, thanking him for the time spent on the floor and when he caught his reflection in the mirror, he almost groaned. His hair was in disarray, he was clad in an old, threadbare t-shirt and baggy sweats, and yesterday’s scruff painted his cheeks and chin in pepper-and-salt hair. Uncomfortable with how he looked like, he turned away and leaned his hip on the sink.

”Nat—that’s Clint’s friend—came to see me last night at Mockingjay’s,” he said quietly. ”They’re coming over tonight.”

”And?” she snapped.

Phil’s lips drew in a self-deprecating smile. ”And nothing,” he said, shaking his head. ”I’m sorry that I woke you up.” He pushed himself to stand and was about to exit the bathroom but Chloe stepped on his way and drew him into a hug.

”I’m sorry,” she said, her voice muffled against his skin. ”I always see you as, you know, my _dad._ You know everything and you’re strong and awesome, and I forget that you’re just a human.”

”No, I’m sorry,” Phil sighed. ”I’ve gotten so wrapped up in…whatever this is that I’ve been neglecting you. I should be the one boosting your self-confidence and telling you there’s someone out there who will love and cherish you no matter what.”

”Assuming I want to be loved, that is.”

”What do you mean, ’assuming that you want to be loved’?” Phil asked, slightly alarmed.

Chloe shrugged. ”Well, I could be ace?” She rolled her eyes at Phil’s blank face and continued, ”Asexual. Or gray-asexual, I don’t know.”

Phil stared at her for a moment before he shook his head and muttered, ”You should get off Tumblr.”

”Now you sound like a regular dad,” Chloe said brightly and kissed his cheek. ”Now, shoo, I wanna take a shower. There better be pancakes for this.”

”Don’t push it, young lady,” Phil said over his shoulder on his way downstairs.

”I love you too,” she yelled after him and then slammed the bathroom door closed.

 

* * *

 

Phil managed to get a grip on his nerves but it required another long walk with Lucky and a ridiculously loud and aggressive Minecraft session with Chloe. Lucky picked up on his mood and followed him around, making him doubly as conscious of his pacing. But he didn’t want to sit down and wait.

After one terse conversation and a slammed door that rattled on its hinges, Chloe didn’t try to distract him but she stayed near and Phil was grateful beyond words. She didn’t have to be there. She didn’t have to watch her dad getting all nervous about an old lover. She didn’t have to support him. But she did.

He wasn’t sure what he’d done right to have her.

A bit after eight, instead of the doorbell there was a knock on the door. Phil jumped up from the couch and walked to the door. He inhaled through his nose and blew it out through his mouth, wiped his hands on his jeans, and swung the door open so that he didn’t block it.

”Took you long enough,” Nat said coolly and walked in.

Clint followed after her, his eyes darting here and there, taking in the corners and windows. He looked better than the last time they’d seen each other but it was painfully obvious he was still far from fine.

”Hi,” he said.

”Hi, Clint,” Phil said. ”It’s good to see you.”

”You must be Chloe,” Nat said. Her voice had an odd ring to it but before Phil had the chance to figure out what it was, Clint snapped a sharp, ”Nat, behave.”

She turned around and gave him a demure smile. ”I always do,” she said. Then her face softened. ”Yes, Clint,” she said in a gentler tone. It was subtle but changed everything about her.

And then Clint noticed Lucky standing in the doorway, watching them with his head cocked, practically vibrating. ”You have a dog?” he asked, voice breathless. ”Oh my god, you have a dog!”

”Ah, that’s Lucky,” Phil said. ”He moved in just a couple of days ago. How didn’t you know that? I thought the whole town knew about him as soon as I walked home with him.”

Clint didn’t seem to hear a word. He dropped to his knees and held out his hand to Lucky. The mutt almost fell over in his eagerness, butted his head against Clint’s cheek, and then promptly climbed on his lap.

”Well, if he wasn’t already in love with you, he’d be totally gone now,” Nat said. Her voice was dry but her eyes were suspiciously bright.

”Shut the fuck up,” Clint said. His voice was muffled because he’d buried his face in Lucky’s neck, hugging him with his both arms. Lucky rested his head on Clint’s shoulder with his eye closed, looking blissed out.

Nat watched him for a moment and something raw and painful flickered across her face. Phil blinked and dropped his gaze, certain that he’d witnessed something that wasn’t meant for his eyes.

”I’d like to have some tea now,” she said after a moment.

”The kitchen is this way,” Chloe jumped in. ”We have tea and sultsinas too if you want? Dad went a bit overboard.”

”Really?” Nat asked, quirking a brow and giving him a sideways look.

”Yes. And if you’re going to be a bitch about this, I’ll ask Daisy Sitwell to help me overdose you with laxatives,” Chloe said cheerily. ”You’ll never see it coming.”

Nat stopped to give her an appraising look and burst into bright laughter. ”I like you. Come on, I’ll show you how to make proper Russian tea!” She offered Chloe her arm and they marched into the kitchen, their heads close to each other like they were already sharing secrets.

Phil had a sinking feeling the whole world would suffer from their union but he didn’t have it in him to care.

Because there was Clint. Kneeling on the tiled floor of his foyer, his arms full of a happy dog.

He was here.

In Phil’s home.

Phil took a breath and sat on the floor, leaned against the wall, and just _looked_. He let his eyes roam on the curve of Clint’s jaw, followed the line of his neck to his broad shoulders and the way they stretched under his hoodie, the way his back was bowed and the way his jeans stretched over his thighs. He took in his fingers, the veins that ran across the backs of his hands and disappeared under the sleeves.

”It’s rude to stare.”

Clint’s words were quiet but they still managed to startle him.

”I’m sorry,” Phil said and dropped his gaze on his hands on his lap.

Clint sighed. ”Don’t apologize,” he said. ”You can’t keep doing that, you know.” He rearranged Lucky so that the dog was lying comfortably on his lap, his head resting on the crook of Clint’s elbow. His eye was half closed and he still looked blissed out.

Phil felt a stab of irrational jealousy.

”Thanks for seeing us,” Clint said after a moment. ”I know Nat can be… scary.” He petted Lucky for a moment and then said, quieter, ”She feels responsible, I guess, because by some twisted belief she now thinks my life is in her hands. I don’t know if it’s a Russian thing or a Nat thing.” He shook his head. ”And I’m not sure whether to be angry or grateful.”

After a moment, Phil asked softly, ”Can I be grateful?”

Clint raised his head to look at him. ”Why?” he asked, genuinely curious. ”I mean, it would’ve been easier for you if you hadn’t seen me again.”

”Easier? Maybe,” Phil mused. ”Better? I don’t think so.”

Clint frowned. ”Why?”

”Because,” Phil said simply.

”That’s not an answer,” Clint said flatly.

Phil frowned and pressed his lips together in a thin line. He knew what he wanted to say but he wasn’t sure if it was the right thing to do. He didn’t want to push Clint or overwhelm him but at the same time, he was keenly aware there was a good chance this might be his only chance. He felt Clint’s sharp eyes on his face and looked up, only to see Clint drop his gaze on Lucky on his lap.

Closing his eyes, Phil swallowed, drew a breath, and asked, ”Have you read Game of Thrones?” He was proud his voice didn’t waver.

”You mean The Song of Ice and Fire?” Clint asked with a raised brow. ”Yeah.”

”Smartass,” Phil muttered. ”You’re just as bad as Chloe. Anyway, there’s a character who calls their love their Sun and Stars.” He gave Clint a rueful smile. ”That’s what you are to me. My Sun and Stars. I fell in love with you all those years ago; in the stifling heat of the big top, in the smell of horse shit, in the sunny days and rainy nights. I loved you when you pushed me away, I loved you when I reread your letters, and I loved you when I found out you were here.” He swallowed. ”I’ve been carrying you in my heart for over two decades and I’ll be carrying you with me until the day I die.”

Clint’s eyes were wide, terrified. ”Shit, Phil, you can’t—” he stopped and shook his head. ”You can’t just _say_ things like that!”

”Why not?”

”Because,” Clint said through his teeth.

”That’s not an answer,” Phil said softly, echoing Clint’s own words.

”I’m broken!” Clint gritted out. ”I’m broken and damaged and garbage and _nothing!_ You can’t say things like that to me!”

”That’s not your decision,” Phil said calmly.

”Fuck you!” It came out as a shout. Lucky whined and pushed himself closer and Clint sagged, hugged him close and held on to his fur so tightly that his knuckles went white.

”I don’t need your permission to love you,” Phil said quietly, drained. ”I know you think you don’t deserve to be forgiven but I don’t care. I forgive you anyway.”

Across the foyer, Clint sat hunched over Lucky, trembling. Phil ached to touch him, to hold him close and shield him from his demons but he refrained, clenched his hands into fists, and stayed put.

Phil had forgotten all about Nat and Chloe so when they entered, he startled. Chloe’s eyes flitted to Phil’s but she said nothing, just carried the tray laden with sultsinas, scones, and the triple chocolate chip cookies she’d made earlier while Nat brought over mugs and tea.

The conversation was stilted, mostly fuelled by Nat and Chloe who poked and prodded Phil to join in. Clint concentrated on drinking his tea and feeding sultsinas to Lucky, apologizing that he couldn’t taste the cookies because chocolate was bad for dogs.

Phil took part in the conversation when he was asked to, but his focus was on Clint and he completely missed the looks Nat and Chloe shared.

When it was time to leave, it seemed like Clint and Lucky had equal difficulties to part from each other. Nat had to practically lift Clint off the floor and when they opened the door to leave, Phil held on to Lucky’s collar to prevent him from running after Clint.

”I’m sorry, Lucky, but I have to go,” Clint said. ”I’ll be back, okay?” He looked at Phil. ”I mean, If that’s okay?”

”Of course,” Phil said. ”You’re welcome anytime you want.”

”Okay,” Clint said again and knelt in front of Lucky. ”I’ll be back tomorrow, buddy,” he whispered and hugged him, muttering something Phil didn’t catch. Then he got up and walked out without another word, Lucky’s whine following him.

Nat gave Phil a small smile. ”Thank you,” she said softly. ”This was…” her voice trailed away. ”You have no idea how much you’ve done.”

_No, you have no idea,_ Phil wanted to say but watched her walk away instead. He stayed standing while Chloe walked up, closed the door, and leaned against it.

”Okay, I _never_ want to do that again,” she said with feeling.

Phil frowned. ”Why? Did something happen in the kitchen? Are you alright?”

Chloe gave him a flat look. ”I never, ever, ever again want to spend three hours watching you and Clint give each other lovey-dovey eyes when you think no-one is looking. It’s gross. But also awesome. But mostly gross.”

”I wasn’t—he didn’t—”

”Oh yes, he did. You just didn’t see it. Dad, he’s still gone on you.”

”Chloe, sweetheart, it’s not that simple,” Phil said, tired. ”He’s not well.”

”Yeah, I heard him. I think the whole neighborhood did. But that’s not the point.” She walked up to him and gave him a tight hug. ”We’re all damaged and a bit broken. But it’s not about the fractures, it’s about will, right?”

She smacked a kiss on his cheek, gathered up the now empty tray and mugs, and took them into the kitchen.

Phil stared after her. Teenagers. What a peculiar mix of fatalism and hope packed in a bundle of hormones and anxiety.

 

* * *

 

Clint came over the next day, alone. He knocked on the door and shuffled on his feet when Phil opened it, refusing to come inside. He just took Lucky’s leash and left. Phil watched after them for a moment before he turned and went back in, figuring that if he cooked, Clint might stay.

And he did. He was reluctant but stayed long enough to have dinner with Phil and Chloe. Phil asked where they’d gone and if he’d let Lucky run free, but otherwise than that, he didn’t try to draw Clint into their conversation. From the corner of his eye, he saw that Clint was listening, his eyes flitting back and forth between Phil and Chloe as they talked. He decided it was progress.

It became a pattern after that.

Clint usually came over in the evening or early in the morning, took Lucky out for a long walk or a brisk jog, and then returned to sit in the foyer. After some time, Phil started leaving him a spare key under a flower pot so that Clint could come and go as he pleased. Honestly, Phil wanted to drag him in and sit him at the table but he knew that Clint had to do this on his own terms. Because that was familiar from the Clint he knew from two decades earlier: stubborn as a bull, unwilling to budge if he’d decided on something.

So, Phil waited.

And in the background, Chloe watched them both for some time before she apparently decided that it was okay to be a teenage girl once more. When she threw her first proper teenage tantrum, Phil felt stupidly happy.

 

* * *

 

One Tuesday, Phil came home from work and almost stumbled on Clint and Lucky, sleeping on the floor in a pile. Clint didn’t stir but Lucky opened his eye long enough to give Phil an affronted look.

”Sorry,” he mouthed and tiptoed around them. He retrieved a blanket, covered them, and then went to sit in the kitchen to have a minor freak-out.

When someone with as severe PTSD as Clint’s was fell asleep, it was a sign of massive trust. Phil wasn’t sure what he’d done to deserve it but he cherished it with something akin to wonder. Then he realized what time it was and texted Chloe.

>Don’t come home. Clint is asleep in the foyer.

_> WTH? Pics or it didn’t happen!!!!_

Phil huffed. >I’m not going to take pictures of him.

_> Why? You totally should_

>Because it’s creepy and violates his trust.

_> True. Shame tho_

Phil shook his head. He quietly got up and checked in on Clint and Lucky, glad that they were still asleep. He wasn’t sure how much sleep Clint managed to get but if his looks were anything to go by, it was nowhere near enough. For a moment, Phil wondered what to do. Should he just go into the living room and read a book? Should he start preparing dinner? Or should he just stay silent in the kitchen and wait for Clint to wake up?

In the end, he decided on the food. Clint would be hungry anyway and the sounds of cooking would be familiar and hopefully relaxing. He assumed Clint would most likely be somewhat dissociated after waking up and domestic sounds might help.

He was almost done with dinner—a simple stew—when he heard silent cursing and then Clint shuffled into the kitchen, Lucky at his heel.

”Sorry,” Clint muttered. Wrapped in the blanket, he was sleep-mussed, looking young and vulnerable.

Phil felt an almost overwhelming need to gather him in his arms but instead, he turned back to chop veggies for a light side dish. ”Sorry for what?” he asked. ”For sleeping? If anything, I’m sorry for your back. The floor isn’t that soft. Will you stay for dinner?” he asked lightly.

”Um…if it’s okay?”

Phil set his knife on the cutting board and turned to look at Clint. ”I’ve already said this: you’re welcome here anytime you want. I thought the key made it clear.”

Clint ducked his head and said nothing but the silence that followed was an easy one.

 

* * *

 

Several weeks later, Nat told them she was leaving.

”It’s time,” she said to Clint who looked concrete but didn’t argue. ”I have a package that needs delivering.”

That meant something to Clint because he twitched and then nodded slowly. ”I don’t like it,” he said. ”But it doesn’t matter. Stay safe.”

When they hugged, Nat whispered something in Clint’s ear and he answered, words muffled against her neck. Then he let her go, turned sharply, and walked out of the door with Lucky trailing behind him.

Nat watched after him with a wistful look on her face but when she turned to look at Phil, it hardened.

”Take care of him,” she said. ”He’s…precious.”

”I know,” Phil said. ”And I will.”

 

* * *

 

After Fitz and Mack finally got their acts together, the only thing that really changed was how Mack started showing up during lunch break, mostly to drag Fitz out from his lab to eat. Phil wasn’t sure what Fitz and Jemma’s history was but he saw the wistful looks Jemma shot their way whenever Mack managed to get Fitz actually leave the building.

”It’s not what you think,” Jemma said one day after the door clicked shut behind Fitz and Mack. ”I’m not— We never were— It’s not like that.”

Phil paused, coffee pot halfway out of the coffee maker, and raised a brow. ”I didn’t say anything,” he said mildly.

”You gave the look.”

”The look?” Phil asked, finished pouring himself coffee, and put the pot away. ”I wasn’t aware of any looks.”

”Oh, shut up,” Jemma said and hurried off.

”Alright,” Phil said to the empty room and returned to his office.

He had a stack of referrals to go through, and there was one he needed to consult a neurosurgeon about what he was sure was a massive brain tumor. He definitely didn’t look forward to that talk with the Corr family. He got so immersed in his messages that he didn’t notice Jemma standing in front of his desk until she cleared her throat and he startled so hard he flung his mouse on the floor.

”Sorry, sorry!” Jemma apologized as she picked the mouse up and handed it back to Phil. ”I didn’t mean to startle you. It’s just… well, you should know,” she said, determined.

Phil waited for a moment but when she didn’t continue, he said, ”You know, it would be easier for me to acknowledge whatever has you all worked up if I actually knew what you were talking about.”

”Oh! Right. Right!” She gave him a small smile that withered away almost immediately. ”Thing is, Fitz was in love with me for a long time and… well, you weren’t here,” she concluded with a small laugh. ”Anyway, he had a crush on this guy who turned out to be a total asshole and who broke his heart—which was metaphorical, the other stuff was literal—anyway, and then he swore off of men for a long time, and then he seemed to be back in love with _me_ again, but I’d met Trip, and it was frankly quite uncomfortable, but now Trip isn’t here and Fitz is with Mack and—”

She paused for air. Phil jumped the opportunity. ”I’m sure he still cares about you,” he said.

”Of course he cares about me!” Jemma exclaimed, like the mere thought of Fitz _not_ caring was absurd. ”But what if Mack breaks his heart and he latches on me again? He’s adorable but it would be really awkward because Trip is going to stay here after this skiing season and—”

”Why would Mack break his heart?” Phil interrupted.

Jemma opened and closed her mouth for a couple of times. ”I don’t know?”

”Is it possible that you’re worrying too much?” Phil asked gently. ”I believe they are equally smitten with each other. Mack has the patience of a saint but he’s quick and can keep up with Fitz. And Fitz, on the other hand, draws him out of his shell.” He smiled. ”I think they’re a good match.”

Jemma let out a relieved breath. ”Yes. Yes, of course. Thank you for the talk.”

”You’re welcome,” Phil said, bemused.

He was about to get back to his work when someone knocked on the open door

”Am I interrupting anything?” Melinda asked.

”Oh no, not at all,” Jemma said. ”I’ll just—” she stopped and pointed at the door.

When the door clicked shut, Phil took off his glasses and asked, “Did something happen? Is Daisy alright?”

Melinda nodded, her face inscrutable. “We have a meeting at the town hall next Saturday at one pm sharp. We’d like you to attend.”

“Um, sure,” Phil said, slightly confused. “What do you want me to do?”

“To give your input, of course.”

”On what?” Phil asked. “And who’s ‘we’?”

Melinda gave her a mild smile and said, “On Project Pegasus, of course. And by us, I mean the Council.”


	12. Nine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...I'm handwaving the military stuff. Just play along, kids.

The next Saturday morning, Phil took Lucky out for a short walk, made a stack of blueberry pancakes ready for Chloe whenever she woke up, and was on his way by 12:35. It was a cold, crisp morning with clear skies and a hint of snow in the air. Winter was well on its way and even though Phil knew that winters at mountain areas could be rough, he felt like a little kid all over again. Rosalind had loathed cold and snow and because of that, their family vacations had always been in somewhere warm. But now, Phil had a chance to finally get his winter wonderland!

When he pulled over by the town hall, there were just a couple of cars at the parking lot. An imposing black behemoth he knew was Nick’s and a ridiculously bright pink sports car he didn’t recognize that was bound to be Stark’s. He glanced at the dark building in front of him, wondering where the meeting was supposed to be held. But Melinda had told him to come here, so he exited the car and started towards the main entrance.

By the door, he was greeted by Mack.

“Afternoon, Mack,” Phil greeted and nodded.

Mack nodded and opened the door for him but before Phil walked in, he cleared his throat.

Phil paused and turned to look at him.

Mack looked uncertain. “I was just thinking,” he started and stopped.

Phil waited for a moment and then said, “Thinking is good. Something in your mind?”

Mack squared his shoulders and looked Phil in the eye. “I was thinking if you’d give Fitz some time off next Friday. I want to surprise him.”

Phil’s lips drew into an easy smile. “Of course! Are you going to romance him properly?” he teased.

Mack ducked his head and shrugged. “He deserves nice things and I want to, you know…” he trailed off.

“I’m sorry,” Phil said and clasped his arm. “I was just teasing. I’ll make sure Fitz is free on Friday so that you can sweep him off his feet.”

“Thanks,” Mack said with a shy grin. Then he frowned like he remembered where he was, and said, brusquely, “Take the stairs down from the left.”

Phil frowned but when he walked in, he did see a door slightly ajar on the left side of the entrance hall. Phil was pretty sure he hadn’t seen it before. In fact, he hadn’t even known there _was_ a basement on this side of the building. The door opened silently to reveal concrete stairs that seemed to go on and on. He paused for a moment, then, shrugged, and started down.

When he finally reached the bottom, he faced brass double doors, nothing else. Phil stopped and took a deep breath. He was a man enough to admit he was slightly nervous. Sure, the opportunity to finally meet the eluding genius-philanthropist-billionaire Tony Stark made him curious but this time, there was a good chance he’d learn more about Project Pegasus than he was quite ready to face.

Before he had the chance to wonder if he was supposed to knock or just wait, the doors swung silently inward and right in front of him, waiting, was Tony Stark.

“Welcome to the Batcave, traveler!” he intoned in a booming voice. When Phil just raised a brow, he shrugged and said, “Worth a try. Come in, I’ve been waiting for you.” He threw his arm around Phil’s shoulders and practically dragged him in, gesturing with his right hand at the same time. “I’ve meant to redecorate for some time, but for some reason, Dorrian’s fair mayor doesn’t feel the need. I mean, this is cozy and nice as far as bunkers go, but there’s so much that could be done. What do you think about new couches? And a bar? Or a pool table!”

“We already have couches to sit on, the only one who wants a bar is you, and we definitely don’t need a pool table.” Nick’s voice came from somewhere Phil’s back right, and despite himself, he startled.

“Aww, Eyepatch, you have no vision!” Stark lamented as Nick walked forward. Then he sniggered. “Vision. See what I did there?”

“Yes, thank you,” Nick said dryly and waved him away, then turned to Phil and said, “Hello, Cheese.”

“You have some explaining to do,” Phil said, taking in the long, black leather jacket and army boots. “But let’s start with what the hell is going on? And what’s with the eye patch and Matrix look? What happened to shades and sensible coats?”

Nick clasped his hands behind his back and gave him a considering look. “Welcome to Project Pegasus, Phil.”

”Melinda already used that line,” Phil pointed out.

“Motherfucker,” Nick swore under his breath. “That was meant to be my grand entrance.” He huffed and shook his head. “Never mind. Come on.”

They walked through the lobby and entered a cavernous hall that had a round table in the middle, couches by the left wall, and massive screens covering the back wall. When Phil turned around to take in the whole space, he saw a kitchenette partially hidden inside the left wall and discreet signs pointing to bathrooms.

He turned around again to give Nick an appraising look. “I have to say, this place completes your looks.”

“Not my design. This was all Stark.”

“Not all,” Stark chimed in from behind Phil, taking a beeline to the bottles on the kitchenette counter. “If this was my design, this definitely wouldn’t be so gloomy. But alas, what can I do when my creative flow is interrupted?”

“We limited your manic spending spree,” Melinda said from the table. “You should be grateful.”

“Pshh,” Stark said and batted her comment away, plopped down on the couch, and took a sip of his drink. Scotch, Phil guessed. “Pocket money. Anyway, what’s on the agenda today? Nefarious plans? Barbecue? Riverdance?”

 

* * *

 

It was…interesting to see the people he’d learned to know as friends slowly file in. Steve and Peggy were the first and greeted him with a smile and nod before sitting down. Neither Bobbi and Lance nor Dr. Banner were a surprise, but Deputy Lehnsherr pushing professor Xavier’s wheelchair in made him pause. Didn’t they hate each other? Then he saw how Lehnsherr’s fingers gently trailed down Xavier’s arm before he took a seat, and Phil realized that perhaps there was more to their story than met the eye.

Not for the first time, he wondered how the Dorrians saw him. A broken man trying to escape his past demons? A parent trying to do what was best for his daughter? A lonely man rekindling the hopes of what he had lost a long time ago?

“Everyone here?” Nick asked as he stood up, jolting Phil from his thoughts. “Good. So. I guess we all know Phil,” he inclined his head, “so there’s no need for official introductions for his part. But I think it’s time to bring him up to date.

“Like Phil knows, project Pegasus has been a beloved brainchild of mine for ages. Long before I officially quit the alphabet soup agencies, I wanted to create a safe place for those who had nowhere else to go. I had plenty of ideas but never had the means until I met Tony Stark—”

“And by ’met,’ he means he saved my life,” Stark pointed out from the couch.

”—Because even though I knew what I wanted, I lacked the place. Tony had ideas and especially an emotional connection to this place mostly by late Dr. Lee’s fishing line and mental recalibration.”

“Cold turkey withdrawal,” Stark muttered.

“Tony was the one to approach me and together, well, we built this place,” Nick continued, ignoring Stark. ”Partially from scratch, partially by digging a shitton of tunnels and bunkers underneath Dorrian.

“The good people of this town have an idea of who and what we are. Each and everyone was offered the chance and funds to leave and start their lives over in safety. Those who chose to stay, have been insured and funded for the most harm they might encounter.”

“Most?” Phil asked.

Nick shrugged. “There’s only so much a bunker can do against a missile.”

“Oh.”

“After Dr. Lee passed away last spring, we needed a new doctor. Preferably someone who we can trust but who also understands the...difficulties our special kind of crazy might face. And that’s project Pegasus in a nutshell,” Nick concluded.

_No fucking way it is,_ Phil thought but kept silent. He’d corner Nick later, in private.

Nick cleared his throat. ”For Phil’s sake, I suggest we let him know who we really are. I’ll begin. Nicholas Fury; former CIA, NSA, counterterrorism unit, whatnot; the director of Project Pegasus.”

“Commander Maria Hill; former military, assistant director of Project Pegasus,” the principal of Chloe’s school said coolly.

”Melinda May; former black ops, assistant director of Project Pegasus.”

“Steve Rogers; Captain of the US Army, accused of treason.”

Phil blinked. _Treason?_

“Margaret Carter; MI5, dishonourable discharge.”

No doubt noticing his stupefied expression, Steve and Peggy glanced at each other and then Steve sighed. ”We got orders from the Secretary of State and we chose to… ignore them. I’ll explain later.”

Phil nodded, his mind churning. He barely registered the next introductions _(Bobbi Morse, black ops, burned; Lance Hunter, former British Army and MI5, burned)_ , but then he heard Jemma’s voice.

“Jemma Simmons, biochemist, officially dead.”

What?

“Leopold Fitz, engineer, officially dead.”

Phil stared, his eyes darting from Jemma to Fitz. First, how hadn’t he known what Fitz’s first name was and second—officially dead? How? And why?

“Alphonso Mackenzie, CIA, burned.”

There was a short silence and then, quietly, Clint said from by the wall, “Clint Barton, Ronin. Officially dead.”

Eyes wide, Phil whipped his head around to stare at Clint. He hadn’t seen him coming in and even now, he was partially obscured in the shadows. From the corner of his eye, he saw Xavier and Lehnsherr look up sharply, but the others didn’t react.

Phil didn’t know what to think. He’d first heard the name back in his last tour in Afghanistan, whispered in the shadows. Ronin was—had been—a legend, a ruthless and cruel killer for hire, someone who cared only about the paycheck and gave zero fucks of things like innocence or whether the target was an adult or not. He was notorious for a good reason and even the people in the know were wary of him.

And… _Clint_ was supposed to be Ronin?

The Clint who had held a sparrow in his hands, heartbroken when it had flown into the window and broken its neck. The Clint who had traced constellations on Phil’s skin and planned adventures under the moon with a hushed voice. The Clint who had patiently instructed kids who visited the circus how to feed peanuts to the elephants.

Was this one of the reasons why Clint thought he was garbage?

_(Erik Lehnsherr, burned; professor Charles Xavier, suspended permanently; Dr. Bruce Banner, wanted by the Interpol.)_

The introductions went on around him but Phil didn’t care.

As if sensing his gaze, Clint slowly raised his head and looked straight at him. His eyes bore into Phil’s from the across the room, his gaze as penetrating and intense as ever. Phil didn’t try to hide from it but let himself be open, allowing Clint see whatever he wanted in his eyes. He let his face split into a warm smile and saw how Clint’s shoulders drooped with relief.

“Alright, let’s get down to business,” Nick said. “Clint, you wanna stay in there or come up here?”

“Um—”

He was interrupted when the door banged open to admit Nat, half supporting, half dragging a limping man inside.

“Are we late?” she drawled. ”Oh, introductions! Natasha Romanov, former KGB, codename Black Widow, defect.”

The man on her side was breathing raggedly but said nothing until she jabbed him to the side. The man grunted and raised his head. On Phil’s side, Steve gasped.

“James Barnes, codename Winter Soldier,” he forced out. ”Alexander Pierce is dead.” His knees buckled and even though Nat tried to hold him up, she didn’t quite manage.

”Phil!” she barked, but Phil was already rushing to her side.

”What’s his status?” he asked.

”Multiple gunshots, stabbed to the side, internal bleeding, concussion,” she said. ”For starters.”

”He needs to be in a hospital,” Phil snapped. ”I’m not equipped to deal with multiple traumas in here.”

”Actually, that’s not true,” Stark drawled from behind him. Phil heard a soft beep and then a whole section of the right wall slid to the side, revealing a full-sized operation room complete with cabinets stuffed full of drugs and equipment and a proper scrubbing sink on the side.

”Ta-dah!” Stark said swiping his hands in a grand gesture. ”It’s fully equipped and, as it happens, you have capable staff to help you. Chop chop, doc!”

”What the hell, Nick,” Phil growled. ”I’m not a surgeon and you know that.”

Nick glared back at him. ”Not the time and the place, Cheese,” he barked. ”This isn’t your first rodeo but now you actually have a goddamn OR to work in. Bruce, Jemma, Fitz, and Erik will assist you. You’re a doctor so go and do your motherfucking job!”

”I’ll call Jasper and ask him to pick Chloe and Lucky up,” Melinda said. ”Phil, you need to go.”

Phil gritted his jaw and shot Nick a glance that said it wasn’t over before marching towards the OR, following Mack who was carrying Barnes inside in a bridal carry. He gave the OR a cursory glance and took in the setting while listening to the orders Jemma gave. He’d always known she was far more capable than her job as his assistant nurse slash lab technician slash secretary let on, but organizing an emergency surgery wasn’t something Phil had thought was one of her strong suits.

While Phil scrubbed up, his team stripped and intubated Barnes, hooked him on IV-lines and monitors, and had him under proper anesthesia and pain relief. Before he started, Phil looked behind him and saw the others, either working their own thing or watching them. Clint was patching up Nat but when Nat nudged him, he looked up and met Phil’s eyes.

Phil held his gaze for a moment. Then he turned, took a deep breath, and started.

 

* * *

 

The operation took eleven hours. Barnes flatlined twice but made it back, and by the time they finally had him stabilized and were able to close up, Phil was exhausted. It had been years since his last emergency operation, and even in Afghanistan, it hadn’t been quite like this.

”I’ll take it from here,” Bruce said gently when Phil swayed, gripping his hand so that he didn’t poke himself with the needle. ”Go get something to eat and then find a place to sleep.”

Phil didn’t even bother arguing, just nodded and shuffled to clean up. When he noticed a bright red splatter of blood on his shoe, he stared at the blotch for a long while before he kicked his shoes off and walked out in his socks.

He was barely out of the OR when Nick stepped in front of him. ”Cheese—”

His sentence was cut short as Phil punched him in the nose as hard as he could. In his current state of exhaustion, it wasn’t much but the nasal cartilage still made a satisfying sound under his fist.

”I guess I deserved that,” Nick muttered over Nat’s snort.

The punch made him sway on his feet and Phil would’ve probably toppled over if someone hadn’t grabbed his arm.

”This way,” Clint said softly and nudged him along.

Frowning, Phil looked up and somehow wasn’t even a bit surprised when he saw that yet another part of the wall had been moved, revealing a room with several…eggs?

Ah, _sleeping pods_ , Phil’s sluggish mind provided after a beat.

Mack was asleep in one pod but he startled awake when Phil stumbled on his own feet. ”It’s over?” he asked as he sat up, rubbing a hand over his face.

”Yeah,” Phil said, already gazing longingly at the nearest pod. ”The others stayed up for the clean-up.”

Mack nodded and left the room without another word.

Phil was about to just fall into one of the pods face down but Clint steered him away. ”Bathroom, drink, bed. In that order,” he said gently but firmly.

Phil would’ve grumbled but he was too tired.

After taking a leak and chugging down a bottle of recovery drink that looked it was snagged from some high-end health club fridge, Phil finally crawled into the nearest sleeping pod. ”Thank you,” he muttered, already half asleep. He gripped Clint’s hand in his own and brought it to his lips, pressing a dry kiss on his fingers.

He fell asleep still holding Clint’s hand.

 

* * *

 

He jerked awake in almost complete darkness with the feel of sunburn on his skin and the taste of sand and blood in his mouth. His heart was beating wildly as he forced his breathing to stay even while he tried to figure out where he was. It took him a moment to realize someone was holding his hand and rubbing a thumb over his knuckles over and over again.

”We’re in the bunker under Dorrian’s town hall,” Clint murmured from behind him. ”You operated on Barnes yesterday and saved his life. It’s Sunday, around six in the morning, and I gotta pee.”

Phil huffed and eased his grip on Clint’s hand. ”Sorry,” he said.

Clint didn’t answer but he brushed his thumb once more over Phil’s hand before he got up and went to the bathroom.

Phil turned to his back and stretched carefully. He was achy and pretty much all his major muscle groups were cramped, but perhaps that was a small price to pay for a life saved.

And talking about that…

Phil sighed and closed his eyes. What the hell had Nick _really_ been up to lately? Grouping up a merry band of most wanted and dangerous people in the world was one thing but apparently getting involved with the removal of the Secretary of the State? That was beyond huge.

And what exactly had Phil done, aiding Barnes?

How far was Nick willing to go to achieve whatever his goal was?

He heard soft steps from the vicinity of the bathroom, listened as they got closer and stopped by the pod. He opened his eyes to see Clint hovering by his bed. The dim light revealed his worried expression and the way he was tense, ready to leave.

”Come back to bed,” Phil said before his brain had the chance to interfere.

Clint ducked his head, relief rolling off from him in waves but he didn’t say anything as he climbed back in behind Phil so that he had his back against the pod’s wall. He stayed perfectly still as Phil wiggled a bit to find himself a good position as the little spoon and then carefully reached his hand over Phil’s midriff to hug him close.

Phil tugged the blanket over them and twined their fingers together. ”I’m glad you’re back,” he murmured.

Before he drifted back to sleep, he thought he heard Clint whisper, ”Yeah, me too.”


	13. Ten

”Okay then, explain,” Phil said and crossed his arms over his chest.

”Fine,” Nick said gruffly. ”What do you want to know?”

”How about you start from the beginning?” Phil snapped. It was Tuesday and he was tired. After the Saturday’s operation, he had gotten about twenty hours of fitful sleep, generously garnished with nightmares from his last, almost disastrous tour. He was annoyed, still hyped about the surprise surgery, and mostly pissed about the whole experience.

”What are you up to? What’s with all this?” he swept his hands around the bunker that now looked like a regular—albeit extremely high-tech—conference room again. The OR and the sleeping area were once more hidden behind the retractable walls and only the kitchen area was visible. ”And who the hell are you, really?”

Nick gave him a sour look and stood up, walking up to the kitchen. ”You want anything?” he asked over his shoulder. ”Tea? Coffee? Red Bull?”

”Honesty would be nice,” Phil deadpanned.

Nick barked a humorless laugh and poured himself a generous glass of scotch. If the bottle was anything to go by, it was some obnoxiously expensive brand imported by Stark. Figured. He swirled the golden liquid in his tumbler, took a glance at Phil, and then took a hearty gulp.

”My name is Nicholas Joseph Fury, as you well know,” Nick started, ”but I’ve been known by at least a dozen other names around the world. I’m the director of Project Pegasus, a secret organization run outside the official law.”

”And that doesn’t sound ominous at all.”

”Oh please,” Nick snorted. ”You know just as well as I do that being a legitimate government organization doesn’t mean shit. It’s all about the people who run the show.”

”And now you have your own show to run as you please,” Phil mused.

Nick gave him a flat look as he sat down opposite to Phil. ”Have you heard of The World Security Council?” When Phil raised a brow and shook his head, Nick said, ”Didn’t think so. It is a multinational governing agency that is supposed to look at the bigger picture, asses threats, act as a diplomat between countries, and so on, yadda yadda yadda. As you can probably guess, it doesn’t work.

”Remember the Balkan dirty bomb incident in the 90’s?” Fury asked and Phil nodded.”After that, WSC gave the order to round up certain individuals. They wanted a small strike force that would be easier to mobilize than the UN troops, that would specialize in… _forced_ peacekeeping. In short, they wanted a mobile black ops team that would be above and outside the law and whose initiative would be known for the WSC members only.” He downed his drink. ”Let’s say I wasn’t thrilled.

”World is a big place, Cheese, and when we sit down five individuals representing some of the world’s most powerful countries and claim they speak for the whole world, we’re in a deep shit. It didn’t take long for them to start squabbling amongst themselves which was when Alexander Pierce acted.”

”Pierce,” Phil said slowly. ”The Secretary of the State?”

Nick shook his head. ”He wasn’t the Secretary of the State then. He was just a high-up CIA operative, admittedly with an impressive resume but with questionable means. He was an opportunist who craved more power and was ready to do almost anything to get what he wanted. I’d had my eye on him for years and when he popped up as the new advisor for the US councilman of the World Security Council, I knew.

Nick paused. ”Did you have the chance to talk with Steve and Peggy yet?”

Phil shook his head. ”No. I’ve been busy with the practice and haven’t had the time yet.”

”Okay. Well, I won’t go into much detail then because that’s their story to tell but in a nutshell. Pierce ordered Steve to basically wipe out a whole village in Beirut and Steve said no.”

Phil was silent for a moment. ”And that’s why he was dishonorably discharged,” he said.

”Yeah. He was about to be court marshaled but Stark stepped in. I have no fucking clue what he did or how much it cost him, but he got Steve out. Doesn’t matter, though, because his career was ruined anyway.”

”Huh,” Phil said.

”Yeah,” Nick said. ”The aftermath was a mess. Despite all my precautions, Pierce figured out I was on to him and tried to remove me. By which I mean he hired an assassin to take me out.” He flashed Phil a grin that was filled with teeth. ”Too bad he hired Natasha.”

Phil mulled this over while Nick poured himself another glass of scotch. ”I never thought I’d see you working with a Russian assassin,” he finally said.

Nick shrugged. ”She was a way to the Winter Soldier. I knew him by the code name only and honestly had no idea he was Steve’s childhood friend. And yes, I knew exactly how dangerous he was—still is—but I wanted him on my team.” He frowned at the empty glass and sighed.

”Despite what you think of me, Phil, I’m not the monster in this book. Pierce was on his way of purchasing and dropping a dirty bomb on Sokovia, conveniently masking it as an extremist group attack. It was meant to give the World Security Council a viable reason to take action but more importantly, it was meant to grant Pierce more power and more resources. After Sokovia, he would’ve been the most influential man in high-profile peacekeeping and the results would’ve been disastrous.

”We couldn’t allow it, so we decided to take action. Luckily, everything worked out as we planned.”

Phil was silent for a long while, mulling things over. ”Sounds like a lot of power for one or two people.”

”I know,” Nick said quietly. ”That was one of the reasons I wanted you here. Not only because you’re a good doctor and we could use a doctor who isn’t afraid of battle wounds, but also because you take none of my shit. You call me out on it, you contradict me, you question me. You’ve always been my one good eye, Cheese.”

Phil pursed his lips. ”What about Chloe?”

”What about her?”

”What should I tell her?”

”Whatever you want,” Nick said. ”She’s your kid and you know her best. If you think she can handle a version of truth, tell her.”

Phil was silent for a moment. ”And if I say I want out, will you let us leave?”

Nick cocked his head. ”Do you want that?”

”Not what I asked.”

Huffing out a breath, Nick leaned against the table, gripping its edge so hard his knuckles turned pale. Phil suspected he did it on purpose but it was an effective pose anyway. ”If you’re asking if I’d force you to stay, the answer is no. Even though leaving now would be a dick move both for you and Chloe. And Clint.”

”Really?” Phil asked, his voice deceptively mild. ”Considering that you didn’t have a problem with turning your back on him before, that’s a bit thick.”

”That’s because I didn’t have the chance to get him out sooner,” Nick said, ignoring Phil’s unimpressed look. ”Believe it or not, I didn’t enjoy leaving him to fend himself. He was on his last leg, exhausted because he’d been running for over a decade. Underneath that black-and-green suit, he was just a scared and lonely kid. But there was too much at stake. If I’d gone after him, I would’ve played my cards early and revealed Piece just how much I knew.”

”So, you sacrificed one to save thousands?”

”More like millions, but yes,” Nick said and set his jaw. ”And that’s not something I’m willing to apologize. And when Rosalind died and you were ready to change scenery, I decided why the hell not. It would give you a chance for a closure.”

”Yeah. Thanks for that,” Phil said dryly.

Nick shook his head. ”What did you expect? I’m a spy and a meddler.” He leaned back in his chair and gave Phil an inscrutable look. ”But as interested as I am to make my best friend happy, I need to think about a bigger picture. Like how to keep the world from sliding into world war three. Which is something you can help me with.”

”Excuse me?”

”We have the resources but we lack leadership,” Nick said bluntly. ”Melinda isn’t interested in field work and she says she has her hands full with running the town. Jasper is way too fond of crostinis to run an operation and I wouldn’t let Stark lead even an ant farm if my life depended on it. Steve, Peggy, Natasha, and, when he’s better, Barnes need a handler.”

”No,” Phil said flatly.

”Yes,” Nick countered with a smile that showed way too many teeth. ”You don’t need to decide or do anything right now. Pierce’s sudden death left behind a vacuum and the World Security Council has its hands full trying to figure out how to fill it.”

”What happened to him anyway?” Phil asked.

”Pierce was an old-school spy with a taste of…young lady friends.” Nick gave him a dark grin. ”Let’s just say that one shouldn’t try to swim in _untested_ waters.”

”Oh for fuck’s sake,” Phil muttered and rubbed the base of his nose. ”So, what do we do now?”

Nick shrugged and got up. ”We restock the bunker, we rest and recuperate, we plan. You, on the other hand, need to talk to Clint.”

”I know. I’ll try.”

”Do or do not, there is no try,” Nick intoned as he got up and made his exit in a dramatic flare of his leather jacket.

”Oh fuck you, Jedi Master,” Phil said.

Nick chuckled. ”Tell Chloe that Uncle Nick will stop by on weekend.”

”Yeah, yeah,” Phil muttered and slowly let his forehead drop to the table.

He knew he had to talk with Clint but he just wasn’t sure how.

 

* * *

 

”Sooo…” Chloe stretched the word.

Phil raised a brow and shot her a glance over his shoulder. ”Yes?” he asked mildly even though he had a good guess of what was coming.

He was busy chopping half a buck Thor had dropped on their doorstep earlier that morning. It had been an interesting way to wake up and he blamed his sleep deprivation for the slack-jawed silence he’d thanked Thor with. The man had just grinned, offered Lucky a bone that was almost as big as the dog himself, and left with a cheery wave.

And now, all Phil had to do was to figure out what to do with about 80 pounds of venison.

”Is that a leg?”

Phil nodded slowly. ”Yes.”

”Ew.”

”Animals tend to have legs,” Phil pointed out. ”Are you disgusted because you now see it or because you think deer are cute? You didn’t complain when you had Jasper’s stew, did you?”

Chloe made a face. ”Not the point. And don’t try to change the subject.”

”I wouldn’t dream about it. Would you care to remind me what the subject was so that I know not to change it?”

She punched his shoulder lightly. ”Very funny, dad.”

”I am,” Phil said and pointed his knife at the fridge. ”Now that you’re in the kitchen already, you can make yourself useful. Potatoes, carrots, celery, onions, mushrooms, if you please.”

Chloe let out a groan but rummaged the fridge and settled down at the sink. They worked in a companionable silence for some time but Phil knew Chloe was waiting for his answer.

”How much do you know?” he asked.

Chloe shrugged. ”I already figured this was a special place. Too many fit and hyperaware people crammed in one place, you know?”

Phil let out an agreeing noise.

”So, last Saturday when Daisy and Jasper came to pick me up, I first thought something had happened to you—”

”I’m sorry about that,” Phil interjected.

”Yeah, yeah, I know,” Chloe said. ”They said it was an emergency and that you’d be there for the night. And then I asked ”Oh, did they try to assassinate someone?” and they sorta…froze.” She threw Phil a dry look from the corner of her eye. ”That kinda gave them away.”

”Huh,” Phil said.

”And then I bullied Jasper until he told me the truth about Dorrian.”

Phil pursed his lips. ”And what is that? The truth?”

Chloe shrugged again. ”It’s a rehab center and an operation center for something that can have a serious impact on world politics either by persuasion or… _persuasion.”_

”Is that how they put it?”

Chloe rolled her eyes. ”No. Jasper used a lot of long and fancy words while Daisy made faces behind him. I rephrased.”

”And what do you think about it?”

Chloe set her knife down and turned to face him, leaning her hip on the sink. ”Why the third degree, dad?”

Phil set his own knife down and mirrored her pose. ”Because your opinion matters, badger,” he said softly. ”No matter what turns my personal life takes, you are the most important thing in my life—yes, way more important than Clint. I’m willing to go a long way to make you feel safe.”

Chloe gave him a long, considering look. ”You are happy here,” she started slowly. ”You sleep better, you talk and smile more, and you have those laughter lines around your eyes again. After Mom died, you seemed frail and lonely and I was—” She shrugged. ”I guess I was afraid that you’d break or something. That I’d be totally alone.

”But that’s not the case anymore. I mean, you had friends before but not like this? You have people around you now, and if…if you stumble, you have others to catch you, you know?” Her eyes were bright and her lip trembled for a bit. ”I don’t have to be afraid that you shatter anymore.”

”Oh, honey,” Phil breathed out and grabbed her into a tight hug. ”I’m so sorry. I had no idea you were so worried.”

She let out a watery laugh. ”Of course I was worried. You’re my dad!”

He didn’t know what to say to that so he just hugged her and pressed a kiss on top of her head.

After some time, she cleared her throat. ”I think this is probably the safest place in the country to grow up,” she said. ”Besides, Melinda already promised to teach me self-defense and Daisy said Nat knows, like, all the vulnerable spots in the human body, so…”

Phil drew back a little and gave her a flat look. She grinned and pecked a kiss on his cheek before turning back to chopping the vegetables.

They continued preparing the dinner in an easy silence, ignoring each other’s small sniffles. Onions. They made you cry every time, right?

 

* * *

 

They had been a bit stilted, after the night in the bunker. Something had shifted during those exhausted hours spent in fitful sleep filled with nightmares, but neither had had the courage to really approach it. Clint had come over a couple of times to walk Lucky, just in time to either miss Phil or greet him on his way to work. Phil wasn’t sure if it was intentional or if Clint’s schedule was just the tiniest bit off, but it bothered him.

Phil _knew_ they needed to talk. All the unfinished business was like an itch under his skin, uncomfortable and chafing. But at the same time, he wasn’t sure how to broach the subject. It was annoying. He was a widower in his fifties, how the hell was this so hard? Why did he feel like a teenager all over again?

There was so much he wanted to say, so many feelings he ached to let out but he wasn’t sure how. Clint was still recovering and he didn’t want to scare him away. On the other hand, he wanted to make sure he said everything just right so that there was no room for misunderstandings. He wanted to make sure Clint could remember what he told him.

In the end, the answer was so simple he felt extremely stupid.

He’d carried Clint’s letters with him for twenty years.

Perhaps it was time for him to write a letter for a change.

 

* * *

 

Phil was halfway through his stack patient files when he heard a knock on his partially open door and Deputy Lehnsherr walked in.

”At ease, doc,” Lehnsherr said and raised his hand in a placating move. ”Just popping in to ask what the hell that red thing is in your parking lot.”

Phil blinked. ”A what now?”

Lehnsherr walked to the window and nodded his head. ”That.”

Frowning, Phil got up and peeked out.

It was Lola.

”What the hell?” he muttered under his breath.

”Pretty much what I thought,” Lehnsherr said dryly. ”A car like that isn’t very handy up here. You’d get stuck in the snow before you got out of the parking lot, and even if you somehow managed in that, you’d freeze your balls off in a convertible.”

”But…how?”

Lehnsherr raised a brow.

”No, I meant… I sold her. Why is she here?”

”I’d guess because someone bought her back,” Lehnsherr said slowly.

”Who—damnit,” Phil sighed and grabbed his phone.

 _”Afternoon,”_ Nick drawled when he answered the phone after the fifth ring.

”Why?” Phil asked.

 _”As if I’d leave her there to rot,”_ Nick snorted. _”She’s your lady, she belongs with you. Even if you could drive her only for two months in a year or whatever.”_

”I appreciate the sentiment. I’ll pay you back,” Phil said.

_”The hell you will! Besides, it wasn’t even my money.”_

Phil pinched the base of his nose and closed his eyes. ”Let me guess. Stark?”

Nick let out a bark of laughter. _”You bet it. Now suck it up, Cheese. She’s yours so you just have to deal with it. Or deal with Stark, your choice.”_

”Thanks,” he said dryly.

 _”Yeah, yeah,”_ Nick said. Phil could practically hear the sharklike grin on his voice. _”I’m coming over after New Year’s, tell Chloe to bake me some brownies.”_

Phil sighed and shook his head as he tossed the phone on his table.

Lehnsherr raised a brow, looking way too amused. ”You know you can’t store her there for the winter, right? Doc or not, you’ll get a ticket.”

Phil didn’t deign him with an answer.

 

* * *

 

It took Phil several days and countless tries but then he finally thought he had the letter sorted out. It wasn’t long but he hoped it said everything Clint needed to hear.

Now, all he had to do was to give it to Clint.

On Friday, he left work earlier just in time to see Clint round the corner, Lucky bouncing around him like a kangaroo.

”Clint, wait,” he called and jogged after them.

”Hi Phil,” Clint said with a sheepish grin. ”Didn’t know you’d be home this early.”

”It’s okay,” Phil said while trying to prevent Lucky climbing him like a tree. ”I was wondering— When you get back with Lucky, could you come in? We need to talk.”

Clint blinked and his grin slowly dimmed. ”Yeah, sure,” he answered and turned to go. ”I won’t be long.”

”Okay,” Phil said at his retreating back and frowned. Had something happened? After Barnes had come back, Nat had dedicated her time to him and Clint had seemed somewhat bothered by that. Phil had no idea what were the personal relations between Ronin, Black Widow, and the Winter Soldier, but Nat, Barnes, and Clint had seemed to get along just fine.

As he waited, he made a full pot of strong coffee and warmed up leftover lasagna from the day before. Clint was always hungry but he usually declined food unless Phil or Chloe ate too. Phil was quite sure he was too nervous to eat but he set the table with two plates anyway.

True to his words, Clint and Lucky returned about fifteen minutes later. Lucky hurried into the kitchen right away to beg for treats but Clint took his time and when he finally appeared in the doorway, he stood there awkwardly, his gaze darting everywhere but Phil.

”I warmed up some lasagna, if you want?” Phil said.

”I don’t—” Clint stopped and sighed. ”Let’s just get it over with?”

”Over with what?” Phil asked, confused.

”You don’t need to sweeten me up,” Clint quietly. ”You said we need to talk. It’s not rocket science, Phil.”

”What? I’m not swee—” Phil stopped, suddenly realizing what Clint meant. He closed his eyes and shook his head. ”I’m such an idiot.” He swallowed and took the envelope. ”I didn’t mean that kind of a talk. I didn’t ask you in to throw you out—I wouldn’t do that, not to you. I wanted to give you this,” he said, handing Clint the envelope.

Clint stared at it, eyes wide and unbelieving. ”What?” he finally asked.

”I still have all your letters,” Phil said softly. ”Each and every one of them, from the first with just a few sentences to the last Nat delivered. I’ve carried them with me all these years and I know each by heart. I wanted to give you something in return. I think it was about time.”

He nodded for a good measure, set the letter on the table, and turned around to fiddle with the coffee maker, just to give his hands something to do.

For a long time, he heard nothing. Then, paper rustled as Clint took the envelope, opened it, and slid the letter out. Phil barely dared to breathe while he waited, anxious about Clint’s reaction.

Nothing.

Steeling himself, Phil turned around and saw Clint staring at him, eyes wide and face blank.

”Why?”

Phil said, ”Because.”

”I don’t understand,” Clint said, sounding somewhat lost. ”You should hate me.”

”For some time, I did,” Phil said. ”Or, at least I thought I did. But perhaps my love for you was just so strong that it couldn’t go away, so it had to mask itself in anger, bitterness, and hate so that it could survive.”

”That doesn’t even make any sense.”

Phil ducked his head and smiled. ”I know. It just sounded poetic, I guess.”

Clint snorted but then turned serious, reading the letter through again. ”I don’t know what I can give to you,” he finally said.

”Just yourself.”

Clint bit his lip and glanced at Phil, something terribly vulnerable in his eyes. ”But what if it isn’t enough?” he asked quietly.

”It is,” Phil said.

_It has always been enough._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just the epilogue left, folks!
> 
> (And yes, Fury is still a dick.)


	14. Epilogue: Letters, part IV

Dear Clint,

This isn’t going to be a long letter.

Not because I don’t have much to tell you or because how much you mean to me, but because these scrapings on paper don’t really tell you the truth. How could they? How can black markings on a white surface tell you that, apart from Chloe, I love you more than anything in my life? How can these loops and lines convey that you are the light I was left without for almost two decades?

You call yourself a monster but I refuse to see you as such.

You say you don’t deserve forgiveness but I forgive you anyway.

When I look at you, I see you, Clint: your past and your present, and I still love you.

I’m not writing this letter to make you stay. You’ve had your choices taken from you too many times and I’m won’t add myself to that list of people. You’re my Hawk and you deserve your freedom.

Whatever happens next is up to you. No matter how you choose, no matter where you go, there’s something you can count upon.

You are my Sun and Stars.

I love you.

—Phil

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you thank you, this was it! I have no plans for a sequel but feel free to play in my sandbox.


End file.
